Needless To Say
by blue269
Summary: "You're in love with that blonde, what's her name, Brittany?" Santana's mind raced, as if a mini-clip of everything she and Brittany have been through flashed before her. She swallowed a lump in her throat because she is. She hasn't admitted that to anyone else, not even herself. "Needless to say," she replies, and takes a swing on Jessie St. James' smirking face.
1. Chapter 1

Shelby Corcoran paced back and forth in front of her three well-trained and most plausible secret agents. She was fiddling with the hem of her sleeve that ends just above her elbow. Being a superior in a company, she needs to look her finest. For today, she chose to wear a red, silky, knee-length dress that hugs her curves perfectly. They were in the conference room, the one where the company makes decision, present ideas, and take a vote. The long, shiny, glass table stands before her. The three agents were seated in those plush, rotatable, gray office chairs. One of the three agents is blonde, the other Latina, and the last gelled. The Latina's expression was unquestionably bored, and will probably take any excuse to get out of this impromptu meeting. She was continuously twirling her chair by a foot, and throwing little crumpled papers towards the direction of the blonde, trying to amuse herself. But to no avail. The blonde ignores her, and was surely focused on what this meeting will be all about. The guy with thick brows and perfectly gelled hair was patiently waiting, adjusting his bowtie ever so now and then. It's peculiar, Shelby thought, how the three of her agents could be mismatched but could work perfectly.

Shelby clears her throat. "Agents," she says in greeting, though that wouldn't be necessary. "Good evening."

The three of them looked up, mostly the Latina. She threw one last paper to the blonde and smiled sweetly to Shelby. "I thought this would be one of those lame-ass advertising assignment discussions again. I'm not against it, but wouldn't you choose real-life action than contemplating inside a four-cornered room?" She says to no one in particular.

"Shush, Santana," the blonde sends her a look. "What do we have now, Shelby?"

The four of them works at Beth's Advertising Company. Shelby owns it, the name originating from her daughter. The blonde, Quinn, is designated to the photography and arts section. She has this classy taste, and a death stare that can make you obey without even saying a thing. While the thick-browed guy, Blaine, is assigned as a part of the Human Resource department. He's naturally nice and jovial, so he knows how to talk to people, clients, and employees – either future or current. Santana, however, doesn't really have a position in the company, but she's one of them. She has to be. She claims she's the captain of Snix Ship Department, where all the honesty and frankness sails. In real life, employees would always ask her if their certain project, such as a commercial or poster ad, needs improvement, or would it be effective. It's the right choice they would ask Santana, because she's just so brutally honest. She'd tell you if your poster looks like it's been pooped by a horse and raped by a dinosaur, directly and genuinely, in front of you. And in business, that's a good thing.

Beth's Advertising Company is just starting to boom, and they're striving to make it big.

It's all just a façade, though.

Beth's may be operating and fully functioning, but in all truth, it's Corcoran's Secret Service Agency. They need to have a façade so it won't be obvious. Because, really, what's a secret when it's exposed?

CSSA aims to face illegal underground business, in the same way they use underground reinforcement. And by underground, they mean having no connections with officials, government, or whatsoever. A bothered client may report to them, and Corcoran's Secret Service Agency will thoroughly study the case – if it's legit, because who knows, it might be a set up, or anything related – and take action accordingly.

In most crucial cases, Quinn, Santana, and Blaine are almost always the team sent because they work just so well.

"We have a report from a client named Roz Washington," Shelby informs them. Her agents were surely listening now, even Santana. "Artie Abrams has carefully made a background check with the said client, and as it turns out – she's a swimmer, a cheerleading coach, _and _an achiever." She distributes three identical folders to each of them. "You can read all the details in store, but generally – it reports that she's clean. Legit."

"Is it necessary to have all her medals hanging on her neck in a two by two photo?" Blaine's thick brows meet in a way of confusion.

"This lady might be the older version of Nicki Minaj," Santana comments, dubious, as she flips through Roz Washington's file. "How can someone win an _individual_ synchronize swimming competition?"

Shelby shrugs the statements off, and continues to explain. "As a coach of both swimming and cheerleading, Ms. Washington has keenly observed her students to have changed. According to her, most of the students in their High School are either high or not attending classes. Quote, it is drastic, unquote. She is claiming there is the prevalence of marketing illegal drugs around their town."

"This case concerns a secret service because…?" Quinn asks. "I mean, I know it matters, but are we supposed to be the one to handle this type of cases? I am aware of our limits, but I am also aware of our least boundaries."

"Now, Miss Fabray, don't you belittle something you barely know. For all we care, one case may lead to another case. And that's the situation," Shelby tells them as she takes the seat where the higher rank usually sits. "Three hours ago, I received a call from Cassandra July, a head of a different Secret Service Agency, reporting that a world-wide selling of cheap drugs is occurring in plan of one Jessie St. James. Moreover, the drugs are directed to teenagers, usually eighteen year-olds, and these drugs are equipped with a substance that could take over their minds."

"What is this, _revolution_?" Santana cannot believe what she's hearing.

"Close, but worse," Shelby affirms. "Miss July and I went to the same university, and we both know Jessie St. James. He was an undergrad, while we were upperclassmen. Word around at that time, he was a maniac. As it turns out, it is still applicable to this day. He wants to take over the world."

"That's possible?" Quinn reacts in a manner a child would react when told that butterflies actually evolve from caterpillars. "Controlling people's minds?"

"There is no definite judgment to that, no," Shelby tented her hands and pressed it to her chin, a clear image of someone thinking. "But news has been going, and it is suspiciously odd that banks are being robbed, and government workplaces are being infiltrated, around the world – all by eighteen year-olds. They're too oblivious to notice it can all be interconnected. Officials are thinking it's all a natural occurrence, deviance."

"I can infer that destroying one of Jessie St. James' drug dens will mean something, but I'm sure that is not enough. If we are going to stop him, we need to do more than that," Blaine says as he wipes a bead of sweat that has formed on his forehead. Despite the air-conditioning, the reality of Jessie St. James' evilness sent irregularities to his bodily functions. The sickening truth that someone is willing to control a blossoming life just so his intentions would be fulfilled sends a shudder through Blaine's spine.

Shelby nods, "That is correct. But for now, all I'm asking you to do is to _effectively _take down the drug den that Ms. Washington is referring to. Right now, we are not sure if that is just a little monkey business, or if it is one of Jessie St. James' extension branches. If the latter is the case, we have to be extra cautious. It isn't also known where the den in that town lies, so it's your job to discover that. When you succeeded, squeeze out all the information you can from whoever runs that place. Also, make sure you'll send him or her to a state of silence."

Quinn's eyes widen. "You mean kill?"

The head of the Corcoran Secret Service Agency laughs a little though mirthless, "Oh, no, Quinn. We are never meant to take a life of somebody. We are just expected to _control things_. What I mean is, make sure the person who runs that den, if in any case, is connected to Jessie St. James, will not utter to a soul, except us. Send him or her here, and will take actions from there."

"What happens next if we've successfully taken down the drug den?" Santana inquires, running a hand through her dark locks. It's a thing she does when anxious or unsure of herself.

"I can't tell you yet, because even I don't know. This operation," Shelby motions her hand in big circles, "requires a huge coordination of all the secret services agencies out there."

As if on cue, the three agents exhale a breath they were holding. Sure, they've been sent to large underground businesses, and they've breakthrough. But this? This taking over the world idea? It's just too much to handle. They have never experienced such.

"I trust you three," Shelby drops the bomb. "Try not to think that this operation connects to a much complex system, and just keep in mind that you're saving several lives of young adults. Just get through this."

"That's like saying a droplet of water doesn't make up the ocean," Quinn says, annoyed. "Why would even someone plan to take over Earth? Babysitting a child is difficult enough, what more managing _the world_?"

"Absolutely the definition of insane," Blaine agrees.

"He's a maniac," Shelby reasons, now seemingly tired. It's as if all the information she's said has sunk into her just now. "I know it's unnecessary, but in case the situation calls for it, I'm assigning Quinn to be the head of this group. The three of you will be leaving tomorrow morning. You may go to Kitty Wilde for any inquiries about the trip." She stands up, smoothing her dress. "Remember that human decency is ideal, but honesty is _not _mandatory. That's all for now. Good luck, agents," she gives them a trusting smile.

"Thank you, Shelby. I'm just happy I'll get a break from all this advertising work. We are going to get him," Santana tells them confidently. "Someone who's got a 'St.' in their name should be at least upright. I have a feeling he'll eventually turn in."

Quinn, Blaine, and also Shelby, laughed. All glad somebody in their team isn't shaken as much as they are.

Once Shelby left, the three agents were looking at each other. There's the anxiety caused by the revelation, disguised in the form of one Jessie St. James. There's also the anticipation of going into mission, and the determination they'll get this over with easily. But amongst all those feelings, they all know one thing is going in their heads: _We got this_.

* * *

Brittany was smoothing the fur of Lord Tubbington, purring according to his will. It has felt forever for her to be this close again with her cat, because everytime she decides to rekindle with him, she see's LT making out with another cat. She's happy for him and all, but everyone needs a quality time every now and then.

"It's another bank outbreak," Sam says as he places down the remote next to his lap. "It's the second for the week. And you know what's weird? Teenagers who are in the influence of drugs were the attackers, and hell did they get away. What is happening with the world?"

Brittany just shrugs, not wanting to think about what is happening with the world. In her mind, there could be a lot of happening. At their end, bank robbery must be rampant while at another end, their economy is growing. At their end, somebody must have given birth to her first child, while at another end, a mother just lost a child. Someone may be celebrating his or her life, and someone just got his or her heart broken. Someone just got broke, and someone got his first paycheck. Everything _and_ nothing could be happening right now at once, and we are not aware of that. It's all too much to think about, really. It is a very broad question to be discussed, and instead of speaking her mind, Brittany says, "I don't know."

"Yeah, whoever really does?" Sam stands up and gathers his can of soda as he went and kisses the side of Brittany's head. "I'm beat. Let's call this a night. Good night, Britt."

The blue-eyed blonde smiles at him, "I'll stay up. Good night, Sam."

* * *

"Uno!" Santana shouts mischievously at Quinn. "Oh, damn, Q. This game is not ending until I win."

"You're unfair!" Quinn whines.

"Being unfair is different from being absent-minded," the Latina pokes her tongue out for emphasis on the intention she's teasing Quinn.

The three agents are in the car, on their way to the town where Roz Washington allegedly claims a drug-operation has been ongoing. Quinn and Santana are playing Uno cards at the back of the car, while Blaine has his earphones plugged, shutting the world. He's still worried by the thought a person like Jessie St. James exists. For the two girls, however, they're just happy to be on a mission. Losing to Jessie never crossed their minds.

Santana puts down a +2 card, adding more cards to Quinn's hand. By this time, the brunette has only one card left in her hand, a red 7, and she's successfully screamed 'Uno!' before Quinn.

"Bitch," the blonde mutters, pissed.

Santana chuckles, "It would be _so ridiculous _if our friendship ends just because of playing Uno. I mean, I don't even know if this friendship started, but still."

"Whatever, Lopez," she says as she puts down a blue 7 card, matching the color of the +2 card. "I just want this ride to be over, and get to work already."

"Translation: You want to stop losing to me. Not going to happen, Fabray." Santana puts down her last card, red 7. "Oh!" She cheers, in a tone of mocking, "Lopez won over Fabray! Oh! That hurt, didn't it?"

Quinn groans and gets a pillow from her side. She turns to Ryder, their driver. "Are we near yet?"

"No, ma'am, another round of Uno could still be played," he answers her with a playful grin, looking through the driver's mirror.

"Shut up, and drive," Quinn kicks the back of his seat. She turns back to Santana. "I am not playing anymore Uno with you. That's for kids."

"If you insist," Santana says, leaning further into her position. If the drive would take longer, and Quinn doesn't want to play, she might use the time for sleeping. It will be long until the day that all she thinks about is annoying Quinn and playing Uno because with the Jessie-St-James-taking-over-the-world thing, she knows she's got to take a role in that and her sleeping processes will be disrupted by then.

But sleep not, for Quinn Fabray has other plans in mind.

"How's that girl Dani you've brought to our apartment?" She asks Santana. "Are you still at her?"

With closed eyes, Santana replies, "Quinn, what the hell? What is this, _girl time_?" She crosses her arms. "I'm not in the mood for that, and probably will never be."

Quinn hits her with a pillow. "Open your eyes when you're talking to me," she commands. Santana mumbles a 'control-freak' but obliges anyway. "I just think that you should date," the blonde tells her eventually.

It's Santana's turn to hit Quinn with a pillow. "And now you get a say on my dating life? You don't get to have that! I'm not good with dating, or feelings, you know that, Q."

Quinn grins, understanding what Santana means. "It crossed my mind, since you're always annoying me. If you could have someone to focus your attention to, you'd be out of my hair. And I would like that very much."

"Now that you've mentioned it," Santana smirks, "I am going to annoy you more than ever."

* * *

Ryder pulled over in front of a fine-looking fine-dining restaurant, BreadstiX. He turns to the only person awake in the car besides him, and informs her, "Miss Fabray, we're here."

"Oh, okay," she shuffles, then shakes Santana. "Hey, woman, food is coming, Wake up."

Ryder shook her head laughingly at her two bosses, not acting like they're actual bosses. He pulls his phone and texts the boss of all the bosses, Shelby Corcoran, in his workplace to inform her of their activities. Once done, he turns to Blaine. "Sir Anderson, sir, we have reached our destination. Miss Washington is waiting for us inside."

Sleep is easy to shake from Blaine, but tougher on Santana. She walked unsteadily to get out of the car, and Quinn held her by her waist.

"Santana, act professional. We are meeting our client. Wake the hell up."

But Santana doesn't hear her. Her eyelids were still closing, half-awake, half-asleep. She doesn't really care about the client, she cares about the action. She wants to expose the drug den wherever it was, then get some more action. For Santana, life could only be so boring.

"Can I be excused for this meeting?" Santana speaks through a yawn. "We all know this is just for formality shit and things, and I'm never good with dealing people, so I don't see any point for me being in this one."

Blaine fixes his bowtie, even though there's nothing to be fixed. It's become a habit. "Well, I see your point, Santana. It's your decision, and I think that the final say must come from Quinn, because after all, Shelby assigned her to be our leader, right?"

"Yeah, _Lucy_, let me go. I'll even start looking around town to see if there are any suspicious locations," Santana pleads. "It's a win-win situation, you see. I'll be out of your hair, and I get to do what I want. Mutualism."

Quinn contemplates for a minute, skimming Santana's appearance. "Yeah," she finally makes her mind. "You'll just be a bother, and I have had enough of you back in the car." Santana just smirks at her. "Do not do anything extreme, and be aware of your identity in this town. Am I understood?"

"Hell you are," Santana says. "Text me in case this Roz Washington suddenly performs her individual synchronize swimming stunt, alright? That's the only thing stopping me. But for now, _adios_,_ amigos_." She hugs Blaine, and pinches Quinn's nose. So much for affection.


	2. Chapter 2

Earlier today, before going to their trip, the three agents had a going-away lunch for themselves. It's their last chance to be their normal selves, and to celebrate their remaining typical hours. Typical because their lives don't usually include drug dens, a maniac, or anything else related.

Being sent to a task, the agents were expected to devise a strategy since they are supposed to be undercover. Often times, they pretend that they don't know each other and they live away from each other. Other times, however, they pretend to be a couple (usually Quinn and Blaine, because if Santana will take role of the wife, they all know there's too much gay for a heterosexual couple in there), or they play as siblings even though there's no least resemblance. It all depends on the situation.

For this time's assignment, they had to take different roles in the society. Obviously, since the point of interest are high school students, it is natural that they need to break through and get in the High School. Quinn will be a librarian, while Blaine becomes a senior student. Santana, however, being her lazy-ass self, takes place of the over-looker. It means that she's going to look outside the High School, where Quinn and Blaine's scope doesn't reach, and search for the potential den-runner or the den itself. She's just a plain citizen. Unemployed, bored, annoyed.

Given that they're believed to be strangers, no memorization of details must be needed. Quinn went for Lucy Hastings, because she thinks it sounds smart; Blaine as Devon Anderson, because he thinks it will look good on posters if he runs for Student Council President and he says that being too obvious is the same as being subtle; and Santana insisted that she's Jennifer Low, because it's such a tricky name. It could be a Jennifer Lopez or a Jennifer Lawrence and nobody could ever tell. Slick.

Nearing the end of their lunch, Blaine reminded them of the rules they formulated as a team. Somehow similar to a pact. "Nobody in that town must ever know our real identities. We cannot leave marks, not including the demolition of that drug den. Unnecessary interactions are to be ruled out, and as the most important rule, we cannot be attached to anyone. No one, not even a cat."

"A quick lay?" Santana tries, like she always does when these rules are being recited.

"One more mention of that question and you'll get a lay, Santana," Quinn speaks threateningly. "A lay on the floor, gasping for air. Because I'm going to put you down and suffocate the hell out of you."

Blaine laughs as Santana rolls her eyes, giving them the finger, which just makes him laugh even harder.

At the conclusion of their going-away lunch, the three of them are just happy to be working together. They even wonder why Shelby thinks they're mismatched; for them, they're not. They're perfectly matching. It's a plus when your co-workers can communicate well enough. But it's a much more plus when your co-workers are also your real friends.

* * *

Phone in hand, clad in a loose black sweatshirt and tight leather jeans, Santana walked the skirts of town. She stopped at Starbucks for a while to grab a quick cup of coffee, to awaken the life out of her. Even just by bit.

Santana wasn't lying when she told Quinn she'd search town to begin their work. She has entered any shop that's open, and has a possibility of becoming a drug den at night. No luck for tonight, though. The shops she's visited didn't come close to the signs she's finding. The people are even harder to tell and she's not in the mood for talking. She tried to give a suggesting look to one of those bulky, tattooed and pierced guys, going for a stereotype, and Santana's pretty sure she's given him an erection. It makes her want to gag. The suggesting look means she wants the D, drugs, not _the _D. Gross.

She was still hopeful, though. Santana walked aimlessly across streets, trying to find any indications. Her phone buzzed.

_Agents, your cars and things are all waiting for you. Lucy Hastings, yours is parked out front BreadstiX. I've asked Ryder to refill the gas tank and to pick up the Uno Cards to your favor. Devon Anderson, yours is waiting outside the High School. It's a Black Camaro. It's brand new, be careful of her. You need reputation. Jennifer Low, go to the woods and there you will find your blue truck. Slightly dented, perfect look for an average person you're achieving. Variation is a must. All the luck, Shelby Corcoran._

As Santana read the text, she scoffed. Why did the pickup truck end up with her? She wanted anything but that! Lucky Blaine, he's got himself a brand new car. Which is pretty badass, may she add. Santana kicked a pebble lying flatly against the concrete floor, pissed at Shelby, or anyone in the CSSA, for assigning to her the stupid truck. She inwardly groans, but headed for the woods anyway.

As the moon shines bright, the sounds of crickets resonated all over the woods. Santana can already see the unfortunate truck, and she took her time walking, prolonging the union of the vehicle and herself. Branches cracked and dried leaves crunched with every step Santana makes. As if having the truck isn't already a burden, Shelby chose to place it in the woods. Lady's got favoritism, she thought.

Just beyond the truck, a pond exists. Santana was slightly shocked a faint quacking of ducks echoes as she comes closer to her reason. She wondered how this forest looks during the day. Once reaching the truck, she went straight for the driver's door and pulled it open. Her suitcases were at the back, and she was just looking for the key.

"Hey!" Somebody at the shotgun shouted, clearly surprised. "Who are you?!"

Santana's knuckles knocked against the car door due to surprise and it hurt. She caressed it with her other hand. "Ow," poofed from her mouth. Did the truck come up with a stranger? Is this Shelby's consolation? With the unlit truck, Santana couldn't quite make up who has she's startled, or who startled her. Either way suffices. Her scowl is establishing itself on the Latina's face. "As far as I'm told, this truck is mine. _Who are you?!_"

"Oh, right," Santana hears the stranger say, concluding it's an embarrassed girl. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" The strangers shuffles and gets out of the car.

Santana doesn't respond to that, a thing she does, and slams the car door closed. Another thing she does. Her gaze trails the stranger emerging from her truck. What if the woods was the place where drug dealers and teenagers meet and this one she's meeting is apparently a soldier of Jessie St. James Maniac Army? Her hardened expression burrowed further.

She's got to be one _pretty_ drug dealer, Santana thought upon seeing the strangers face. The throbbing on her knuckles now seeming non-existent. Blue eyes were staring expectantly at her. The moonlight making them appear _bluer_. Being the agent she is, she took a quick overlook of the stranger: Blonde hair, a cat-printed shirt, long legs, and blue eyes (which were already noted). God, she's pretty. All that annoyance she felt vanished.

Santana snaps back to reality when the tall blonde asks her again, "are you okay?" The brunette clears her throat, not a thing she does, and says, "Uh, yes, I'm fine. Are you? Why are you even in my truck?"

The blonde's eyes crinkles as she smiles. Even prettier, Santana thought. "I was feeding the ducks over there," she tips her head towards the direction of the pond. "See, it's a Wednesday today, and I kind of forgot to drop by the afternoon and I just remembered, like, thirty minutes ago, that I should've fed the ducks today. So I went straight here and fed them. And that's when I saw your truck. I just wanted to sit, and I swear I didn't touch anything." The stranger raises her hands defensively, as if to prove her point. "Why is your truck out here in the open, though? Were you in the woods earlier?"

Her words baffle Santana. Baffle, not annoy. Santana supposes that if this was any other stranger, she would be utterly annoyed. But this stranger is not any other stranger. It's this tall and beautiful blonde. She thinks, why is she telling me this? She could give her apologies and just leave. Baffle is the least, amuse is the most.

Lying is like breathing to Santana. She's an undercover agent for duck's sake. However, something tugs at her insides when she tells the blonde a make-up story. She can't figure out why. "Yes, I was here earlier." She moves to the back of the truck to avoid her gaze, half really checking her luggage, half distracting herself.

The blonde follows her anyway. "Are you new in town?" She eyes the suitcases Santana's fiddling with, expression animated.

"I am, yes," Santana answers shortly, as if to convey she doesn't want to converse with her anymore. She just doesn't want to lie with this particular stranger, whoever she is. Her eyes seem to be _too _honest. "In fact, I am moving in to my apartment right now. So if you'll excuse me," she tells her, picking up the car key, chained with a note, splattered on the bed of the truck. It read: _Gotta love the classic. Take care of her. Shelby. _She rolls her eyes. You call this truck classic? It's _unfortunate_. She quickly puts the key in the back pocket of her pants.

"Oh, of course you are," the blonde mumbles with a pout, sounding like she doesn't want the brunette to go just yet. "Thanks for your truck, I guess. She's not that bad," she remarks.

Santana sensed that. She knew. She heard the implication of the stranger's tone that she wanted to talk with her. A slow smile played at her lips by the thought. Whatever Santana's next actions will be, it isn't very logical and doesn't reside with her undercover-agent-side at all. Or just by her general self. Santana isn't keen with making small talk with people she doesn't know. Furthermore, their second rule was to lessen any other unnecessary interactions with unnecessary people while on an assignment, and Santana is about to violate that. Maybe it's the blonde's eyes that's pulling her towards her, that makes Santana violate her team's rules, or maybe it's the quiet and honest ambience of the woods and the night, she can't really tell – but Santana knew she wants to talk with this stranger, too. For Santana, it's really odd. And what's more, she's okay with it. She moves to the back of the truck and pulls the tailgate open, and sits on the edge. "Yeah, she's not that bad. She's _really _bad."

The blonde stranger follows her and sits beside her as well, now seeming happy and satisfied. "What, it's just dents and paint scrapes. These could all be very easy to fix," she tells her with a smile.

"It's not worth it," Santana smirks, as if feeling pleased to tell the truck she's not going to undergo makeover. Her smirk turns into a smile when she saw the blonde looking at her. This stranger surely is contagious. Santana thinks that she likes it. "What?" she asks eventually, breaking the staring competition.

"Nothing," the blonde shakes her head bashfully. "It's just that I never had someone join me in the woods. They all say it's too weird, too stupid." At a fleeting moment, her eyes were sad.

Now, technically, Santana didn't really join her. She didn't feed the ducks like she did. However, she did stay with her. Earlier, Santana could have left there and then, but she didn't. She's staying. The reasons are still unknown. "Feeding the ducks is stupid?" She says, annoyed by the people who would think such. It's very kind and charitable for the stranger to do, and Santana didn't believe such people still exist until her. "Screw them. You're contributing to humanity, and they're not. Whatever they say doesn't really matter."

Her blue eyes shine with what, awe and relief. At least someone thinks her activities are _not _stupid. It's her first time to have someone who thinks so. Deciding the brunette wouldn't go anywhere else in the next minutes, she chose to grab the opportunity to talk to her. She feels like this girl, who owns the unworthy truck (or so she would call it), is a magnet attracting her. And she can't do anything to fight the force pulling towards her. It's not like she would, though. She's happy to be pulled into her. "I have thoughts," she starts. "But before that, I'd like you to know I'm Brittany. My name is Brittany."

Santana pauses for a moment and looks upward. Bright stars shine against the dark sky. _Brittany_, she kept it in the deepest pits of her brain just so she won't forget. No one in this town shall know their true identities. It's tattooed in her mind. For any undercover agent, whether beginner or pro, it's the most basic rule. If you want to keep your job, stay with the rules. That's it. She knows that. Then again, something tugs at her when the thought of introducing herself as Jennifer Low crossed her mind. Santana hopes the tugging feeling would stop. It's not welcomed. She doesn't say a name just yet. Instead, she asks, "What are your thoughts?"

"Nobody listens to my thoughts, since they all think it's not worth hearing for. I'm just warning you," Brittany says to her seriously. The brunette just raises a brow at her, as if asking her to prove her statement. "So," Brittany takes a breath, though she feels truly comfortable. "This past week, bank outbreaks were so prominent, right? Sam, he's my friend, says that it's weird that youngsters were the attackers, and what's more, they're succeeding. He has a point, but you know what idea all this bank robbery shenanigans sends me?"

Santana was full ears. Could Brittany be part of this worldwide takeover? She genuinely hopes she's not. She's too angelic for that. "What does it tell you?"

"It's a part of something bigger," Brittany declares.

Holy shit, Santana thought, you could be right. Her heart started to beat a little rapidly, not just by the sensitiveness of their topic, but also by the expression on Brittany's face. She's so concentrated on organizing her ideas her brows are furrowed. Attractive as damn.

The blonde goes on, "Everything we do ultimately affects somebody else. Like, if my cat Lord Tubbington decided to quit on smoking, the plants on my apartment would last longer, so me not having to place them elsewhere. If I stopped writing in crayons, the bookstore I bought it from won't earn as much, and the owner from it may be short a cent. If I chose not to open up a studio, the government won't get more taxes, thus fewer projects for this town and the _people_." She looks at her pointedly, "Do you see where I'm getting at?" The brunette nods at once, indifferent, catching up. She's glad she's listening. "It's all part of something bigger. Do you wanna know why?"

"Because everything is interconnected," they both say at the same time.

Brittany's eyes widen from shock, and Santana mutters a 'wow.' Both girls cannot believe they would say the same set of words at the same time. It's such a simple thing, maybe a coincidence, but it was remarkable. In that moment, Santana didn't know why, but she felt instantly closer to Brittany.

Santana grins at Brittany. She's not usually smiley, hell she is _not _smiley. If anything, she's grumpy and moody as damn. But with this girl? She has no idea why, but she's smiley. "You have so much going on in there," she tells her, pointing at her head.

"I know. And it's so nice someone's willing to listen when I let them out."

"Yeah, well," Santana shrugs nonchalantly, "I'm cool like that."

Brittany chuckles at her mock smugness, then goes back to her thoughts again. "Now, whoever commands those eighteen-year-olds to rob a bank and do unrighteous, rooted from a bad place. I'm sure. He, or she, or them, are so rotten they've decided to ruin a young person's life. I mean, those kids can't really think of robbing a bank by themselves for nothing, can they?"

"That's a bold theory, you know," Santana says. "What if they're just high and bored? Teenagers could be outrageous. You should know, you've been there."

"I have," Brittany nods. "But, I don't know, it makes so much sense in my head that someone's manipulating them. Like a mafia or something."

After that, Santana left that topic. Since there's the tugging feeling within her when she lies with this particular blonde, she's afraid she's going to blurt out information that are highly classified. Santana stirred away from the bank robbery outbreak talk, and both girls discussed lighter things. Brittany asked why she moved to this town, and what she does for a living. Santana told her the façade. It's not actually a lie, but it's not exactly the truth, either; which, in Santana's view, is better than a total lie. She told Brittany that she works as a consultant in an advertising company and she went here to work on a project. Smooth. Brittany seemed to believe her. Santana was relieved when she got away with that part, and happy to continue talking with her.

Apparently, Brittany wasn't lying when she said that she has thoughts. Plural. Brittany told her that if people were to brush their teeth before they eat, might as well put on their shoes before their socks. She also expressed that it's only premarital sex if you ever get to be married, and that life is sexually transmitted and is always fatal. As Santana listened to her speak her mind, she knew she would disagree to anyone who'd say Brittany's thoughts are stupid thoughts; maybe she's biased, but her thoughts are not stupid. It's just beyond normal; clever, even. No moment passed when she became bored.

"But what if the stars are just representation of us humans?" Brittany, gazing at the sky, pours her thoughts again, no holding anything back. She's very at ease with this brunette. "Some shine brighter, some are dim, some explode, some form a constellation, and some just stay as is. Nevertheless, stars. What if stars exist so as to remind us that we're supposed to fill a role, whatever that may be? We're never designed to be a nobody. I always thought like that. No, not always. I lost function the past year for some reasons, and one night I just got up from my bed, realizing how shit-ass my life has become. I'm a star, I remembered. So here am I."

Santana was mesmerized by her words. Earlier, it was her face that captured her. Now, however, it's Brittany's mind that enamored her. It's so beautiful, she thought. "Here you are, talking to me," she says, as if entranced by the blonde. Maybe she is.

"I mean, I'm opening a dance studio. I'm doing something with my life. Tomorrow will be the ribbon-cutting event. Probably that's why I forgot to feed the ducks. The opening day makes me anxious."

"Don't be, Brittany," Santana tells her confidently. "You have your way with your words. I'm sure everything will be as you pictured it."

Something glints in Brittany's eyes, and Santana can't tell what it was. Maybe disbelief and gratitude at once, she's not sure; but it's supposed to be something good since the blonde was beaming at her.

"Thank you," Brittany says.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed with Quinn's text. She gave a polite smile to Brittany, so as to excuse herself.

_Jennifer Low, I hope you are already settled in at your new home at these moments. The dinner with Roz Washington went fine. But damn, she talked real fast. Anyway, did you find any hints or leads at all or did you just find yourself a quick lay? I require a response._

Santana rolled her eyes at Quinn's bossiness. Between their friendship, it's supposed to be normal. But so is being annoyed by each other. She quickly tapped a reply.

_I don't know where I live, Hastings. Can you ask Shelby for me? I'm kinda pissed she gave me the truck. Ugh. But, yeah, I did search around town. And no, I haven't found anything yet. Real shit goes down tomorrow, though. I also require a response. With picture. Bitch._

Not any seconds later, Quinn complied with her requirements. There was a picture of Blaine and Quinn doing awful silly faces. Santana thinks they took it earlier at the diner, while Roz hadn't arrived yet. It was pretty hilarious, so Santana stifled a laugh. Below the image was Quinn's short caption: _We got ourselves cool cars, and you don't. _And that's when it isn't funny anymore.

_Just send me the damned address when you get it. I'll cut you._

Santana would have enclosed her message with a picture of her raising her middle finger, but since Brittany is still with her, that didn't seem a possibility anymore; maybe later, when she knows where she lives. Santana thinks Brittany might find her unattractive in case she sees her raising the finger. Santana doesn't want that.

_I love you, too, JLow. ;)_

Deciding it's only fitting not to respond to Quinn's text anymore, she turns to Brittany, who, for the most part, was watching her. She felt conscious under her attention. She never feels that. Damn. Santana doesn't want this night to end just yet, but it has to. She has work to do and an identity to fulfill, and meeting a girl like Brittany was her luck. Or stars being interconnected. Whatever. All Santana wants now is to end this night right. "I know my car isn't that cool," Santana starts, "as that was already clearly explained by my friend." She raises her phone, as to emphasize what she means. "But, do you mind if I give you a ride back to your place? It's getting late. You can tell me where to drive, and I swear this truck isn't accident-prone, even if its features suggest otherwise." There was a hopeful smile plastered on Santana's face.

Brittany chuckles and it's like sweet melody to Santana's ears. "No, I don't mind. I trust this car well enough. Thank you."

"Ah, now," Santana gets off of the edge of the truck bed and extends her arm so as to be chivalrous towards Brittany. "Don't thank me yet, Miss. Do as such when we have reached your destination. In one piece."

The blonde taps the tip of the brunette's nose with her index finger, ignoring the offered hand.

Santana looked at Brittany incredulously.

"I just need to know you're real," she murmurs sheepishly and accepts the offered hand eventually.

"I am real," Santana mumbles. Though, on second thought, is she truly real?

Brittany realizes how gentle this brunette is being with her. She even opened the car door for her and told her to watch her head when entering the truck. It's sweet, really. But Brittany did feel a little sad when this very pretty stranger concluded the night already. Man, that text from whoever ruined it. Brittany pushed that idea away. She knows this girl had other commitments and she can't expect for her to just listen to her non-sense babbles all the while, right? Brittany did expect, though. The remaining time with the owner of the unfortunate and unworthy truck would not go to waste, Brittany decides. She hasn't felt connected with anyone for so long. And she also needs to know who this alluring brunette is.

The drive wasn't really long, but for the both girls, it seems that it was. They continued to talk, continued to be connected, continued to be happy. As if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Upon seeing the familiar surroundings, Brittany told the driver to pull over and that she's already here. Her initial reaction made Brittany lightheaded. She said, "Already?" Brittany replied with a consoling "I know."

"This is it then," Santana says, feigning theatrical touches. "How can something so good end so quickly? Life is truly so unfair."

Brittany giggles by the sight of her. "You know, there's only one opening dance studio here tomorrow," she suggests, hoping. Santana smiles at her, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. The brunette then gets out of the car, which takes Brittany by surprise. Instinctively, she reached for the car handle to get out as well, but the brunette was already there, opening the car door for her. Again. And who says chivalry is dead?

"If I find my way," Santana tells the blonde, the most honest she can be.

"Okay," Brittany nods, understanding once more that this woman before her had other commitments. Santana walks her to her door, which isn't very far. Not any moments later, they were at her porch.

"You live here by yourself?" Santana asks.

"No, I live with Sam, the one I told you earlier. He must be worrying about me now," Brittany lightly scratches the side of her head. Adorable. She goes on, "The room upstairs was recently emptied since the drunken occupant never paid her rent anymore, so it's just us here now."

Santana nods, expression unreadable.

"So, I really had a great time tonight." Brittany sounds like she just got off a date. She wishes it didn't come off like that. "And I have you to thank."

"I did, too," the brunette beams at her. "It's mutual."

"No, really, thank you," Brittany insists.

Santana looks at Brittany as if memorizing her features. "You are welcome," she says. She knows she can't be attached, she knows she can't violate the rules. But her logic ran out and she already have. She's so dead, and she can't even care. That's how into she is to this blonde. For fairness and whatever it's worth, though, Santana thinks that she should not bother this lady ever again. It's just one of those amazing and unforgettable nights and that will be full of what-would-be's and what-ifs the next morning. "Very well, then. I'm sure you'll do perfect at tomorrow's event. Have a good night, Brittany," Santana bids goodbye.

"Yeah, thanks, good night," Brittany mumbles, off-minded. Just when the brunette turns to leave, she stopped her. "Hey! You never told me your name!"

Santana stopped at her tracks, her eyes looking everywhere but Brittany. She's raking her brain for anything, for a plausible reason. Then she remembered. She remembered how Brittany made her feel, how attached she's been. Her name, her _real_ name, the very least, she owes it to her. Santana, resigned, sighs, leaving her undercover agent side once again. She grins anyway. "Santana. I'm Santana."

"Santana," Brittany echoes. She doesn't know why, but it made her happier saying her name. "I'll see you again."

"I'll see you if the stars up above allows us to. So long, Brittany."

* * *

At her car, Santana has her head against the steering wheel. My God, she thought, Brittany's so beautiful. But it's just that: a beautiful face and a beautiful mind. She can't go any further. Somehow, however badass her job is, it pisses her off she's an undercover agent. Why did she meet her while on an assignment? The stars must have aligned incorrectly.

Her phone buzzed, startling her. She mumbles a 'shit,' but reads it anyway. It's a text from Quinn, the address of her new home enclosed in it. There's also a short 'good night, San XO' but she ignored that. Because, upon realization, and a little squinting just to be sure, she learned that she's going to be living with Brittany. Well, not exactly _with_, but upstairs. Still, under one roof. Her heart beats with excitement.

The stars never align incorrectly, Santana concludes.

Santana moved into her new home without so much notice. She brought her bags quietly and took her steps lightly as she ascends. She also didn't knock on Brittany's door. Santana didn't want to bother her. After all, she already said that to herself and Brittany's got a big day ahead of her tomorrow.

Her new home, as Brittany informed her, was recently emptied out. She entered and was greeted by a tidy and simple abode. There weren't shards of drunken bottles on the floor as she imagined. The walls were plain white. A worn couch that can seat three is situated at the right and a small TV set is across it. Behind that, which Santana supposes serves as the living room, is a medium table. There a note lies. It read: _Home sweet home! I hope you will be fully adjusted to this place, and will be convenient to your assignment. All the love and the greatness to my three agents, Shelby. _Santana rolled her eyes. Shelby and her notes, really. How she manages to put and sneak them in wherever she needs it to be, Santana can't be bothered to ponder. Further into her apartment, a narrow intersection splits the way into two. If she goes right, there will be the door that leads her to the quaint bedroom, which also bears her bathroom. If she goes left, there will be the kitchen. Santana couldn't care about the latter, she can dial the Chinese takeaway easily anyway.

Santana took a quick photo of herself, raising her middle finger and showing a wide background of her apartment. She sent it to Quinn and tapped a short caption: good night, Q. X

All in all, Santana was satisfied by her place. Not so much with her truck, still. Having her day spent, Santana didn't worry to unpack and fix her things. That could wait. Sleep cannot. She quickly dug a more comfy clothing to change into and went to bed readily. She knows Brittany may have infiltrated even the subconscious part of her mind. She's not complaining.

The thought that Brittany is just downstairs, probably sleeping soundly, made Santana go to sleep easier.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunrays pierced through the blinds, which alarms Santana, and reminds her that she has work to do. She opens her eyes, the white ceiling greeting her good morning. She stretches. _That _was a good sleep. The brunette fumbles for her phone on the bedside table, dialing _Lucy Hastings _as soon as she gathered enough awareness of the new day. Santana wasn't told they shouldn't be contacting one another, so she's calling Quinn.

"Hello, JLow," Quinn's high and usually nasal voice answers at the opposite line.

"Lucy. Breakfast." Santana's voice was kind of groggy from sleep, and her thoughts were still slightly incoherent. It is known that sleep is tough to shake off of Santana.

"Can't. It's my first day of work today and I'm already running late." There was a background of a school bell ringing and people shuffling.

"Ugh. Blaine?" Santana inquires, then corrects herself. "Devon, I mean. Can Devon accompany me?"

"He's a high school student, Jen. He's probably earlier than me and is already in his first class." She heard a smirk upon Quinn's next words. "You're all alone now."

Santana ended the call without so much notice.

After some minutes of just lying down and contemplating, Santana finally got up from bed. She decides to unpack her things, take a shower after, then eat breakfast at a quiet café, and to do some research. Real shit goes down today.

Santana was almost done unpacking; she just can't find a location to place the picture frame she's holding. It bears the faces of of Quinn, her, and Blaine. Their faces were squeezed in that photo; no, Santana's face was being squeezed in that photo. She was in the middle, expression grumpy. As always. On her left, Quinn was smiling prettily, showing her perfect set of teeth. She was pressing her cheek against Santana's. On her right was none other than Blaine. His thick brows were raised and his mouth slightly agape. It's supposed to make him look handsome. Just like Quinn, Blaine was also pressing his cheek against Santana's. It was taken by Rachel, their common friend, who oddly knows the three of them are undercover agents. Hobbits could be trusted, after all. Santana always brings this photo with her whenever they're sent to a task. It makes her feel more at ease. The two other people at the photo, including the one who took it, are like family to Santana. Though, she wouldn't say that on a day-to-day basis. It's like default. The photo where Rachel is included is displayed back at her real home. She wants to save an intruder from seeing the short Jew.

Santana was battling whether it's better to put the picture frame at her bedside table or at the top of the TV. If she chose the former, she thinks it would be too cheesy. Like, they're Santana's lovers, her thoughts before sleep. They're not, obviously. However, if she chose the former, she thinks it would be too blatant. What if somebody enters her apartment and saw their photo? What would they think? Though, on second thought, why would somebody enter her house? She knows no one from this town. She could easily hide it away in case somebody really does enter. Shelby chose this place for Santana to stay at because it's safe, somehow hidden. Having that in mind, Santana finally chose to put the precious photo atop her TV. A friendly reminder, everytime she sits on the couch, that three other people think she matters.

And with that, Santana has fully settled in her new dwelling place.

Her shower was quick, and she suited herself in a dull kind of maroon sweater shirt and short khaki shorts. No need of eyes looking at her, she has work to do. Add to her lazy get up is her lazy bun. All set, Santana sling her laptop to her shoulder and locked her door as she set off for breakfast.

Santana was momentarily reminded of Brittany's big day today when she passed her door and heard the blonde's sweet laugh, along a voice of a man. It's probably the Sam guy. She wonders if she could make it to her ribbon-cutting ceremony. Better yet, if she _should _make it. Santana already saw her unfortunate truck parked out front, and proceeded walking. Most likely, Brittany hasn't seen her truck yet, so Santana thinks it's still unknown to Brittany that they are under one roof. It's better that way. Santana won't bother Brittany again.

* * *

With her almost finished cup of coffee and half-eaten blueberry cheesecake, Santana was still typing furiously at her laptop. She's seated at those big, plush seats a café have, at the farther corner of the shop. She is currently reviewing Roz Washington's file. Not that she doesn't trust Artie Abrams, but he may have skipped over one detail, which could be possibly crucial to this case. But Artie hasn't. Roz Washington's clean and ultimately legit. No holes in her, then. Santana ruled out the possibility that Roz could be a suspect to this drug outbreak whatsoever.

Santana leaned back further to her seat, sighing. Her inner turmoil is caused not by the fact that she's making zero progress on their assignment, but by the fact she told Brittany her real name. On her way to the café, that was the only thing running on her mind. Firstly, Santana doesn't regret it. If there's something Santana felt when she gave away her name to that blonde, regret will not be one of them. It could be joy or satisfaction that Brittany knew her, but never regret. However, if Quinn, or even Blaine, will discover that she revealed her true identity, she is so dead. Furthermore, if Brittany told about her to Sam, it will complicate things big time. She shook her head exasperatedly, frustrated by her situation. She finished her blueberry cheesecake, momentarily forgetting necessary matters - because, man, isn't this cake heaven?

Before leaving the café, Santana made a fake Facebook account who is supposed to be from a different High School Quinn and Blaine is going to. It's from the same town, though. She named herself 'Twixie Cutt' (just because she can), made sure she appears to be 18 years old, and put on an image of a flower as a profile picture. Who knows, a drug dealer may instantly message Twixie Cutt and bring their team closer to her goal? It's only an option that's quick to take.

Upon shutting the lid of her laptop and getting up to leave, Santana saw a redhead girl watching her and showing her a suggestive smile. One thing came to her mind: _a quick lay_. She ignores it at first, and proceeded walking. Once getting out of the coffee shop and reaching her damned truck, the redhead lady was still watching her but the suggestive look was now gone and is replaced by a mix of pity and almost a laughing expression. Santana pretended not to see it. She kicked the unfortunate truck, pissed for ruining her game. It's not like she dibs the redhead, though; she's not even Santana's type. Plus, it would be unfair to Brittany. And Brittany is Santana's type after all. _Wait, what?!_

Santana drove aimlessly around town, searching for any indications of drug exchange. She stopped by the town park, looking at the people sitting on the bench or those standing by the bush. But to no avail. Either they are alone, sleeping, or completely dazed out. The one you know who has life problems, probably homeless. Santana was still plain clueless – no leads, no anything. It's frustrating. Santana wonders if Quinn and Blaine have made any progress, unlike her.

Finally deciding to take a break from all the assumptions and paranoia she's doing to herself – she entered the convenience store to buy a gum when she refilled her gas tank, and saw a rather _odd _eighteen-year-old taking something from the cashier. Santana's mind raced, as she was about to corner the guy and torture him, thinking that she already got herself a lead, but upon getting closer, she saw it was just an aspirin. The guy was apparently dizzy, and she was about to commence a Santana Lopez lame shit-ass show. Thank heavens she didn't. – Santana wanted to go back to her place. Shaking her head annoyingly, Santana got out of the store and sat in her now full-tank, though still unfortunate, truck. To her place she will go.

On her way back, Santana's mind flew to that beautiful blonde she met not only a day ago. It's becoming a habit, really; thinking about Brittany. It makes Santana happy. She wonders if her ribbon-cutting event went successfully, and if Brittany took her word that it will. And as if the stars had aligned correctly, as it always will, Santana saw a site with those huge dancing balloons and loud stereos playing a _Ke$ha _song, and a red ribbon that was just cut. She immediately pulled over, uncertain what to do. Brittany's words resonate in her head, with that very hopeful expression on her face, "_You know, there's only one opening dance studio here tomorrow_." Santana is very torn if she'll go in or not. She did find her way after all. Being rational and critical, Santana knows things may go vastly complicated from there. What if Brittany introduces her to Sam as _Santana_? And then, like an infectious disease, everyone in there will know she's Santana, not Jennifer Low, until it reaches Quinn and Blaine. Her job will be over. She will break their pact, thus ruining their teamwork. She doesn't want that. But Santana really wants to see Brittany now and she is _so torn_. "Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Removing her bun, and smoothing her hair once it's done, Santana looked at the car's mirror, thinking if she looks fine. The consciousness feeling is always present when Brittany is involved. Santana has made her mind. She just needs to play it cool, she noted to herself. Whatever happened to the pledge Santana won't bother Brittany ever again?

When Santana entered Pierce's Dance Studio, the blonde was already over reciting her speech. And as Santana always knew, Brittany looked amazing. She was wearing a cream-white dress that ends above her knee, and her hair was tied to braids. Santana wasn't looking at her directly, but at the mirrors surrounding the studio. At that moment, she knew she's not going to regret this decision.

"…With all that said, I thank everyone who's been here, who never left my side, and everyone's who's willing to stay." Brittany raises her glass of red wine, addressing everyone. The small huddled crowd cheers and claps in response. "Thank you! And now let's get dancin'!" The crowd dispersed as the music boomed, and small chats and wide hugs filled the rest of the studio.

Santana smiled to herself at the sight of the blonde. She seems happy, and mostly, she made it through. Just as she told her. Brittany didn't stutter or made a mess of herself; she was contained and proper. That's it, Santana decides. That's all she can allow herself to see. At least, Santana satisfied a miniscule amount of her need to seek Brittany for today. There are no enough days to satisfy that need anyway, she reasons. As she was about to turn and leave, Brittany caught glimpse of her and their gazes locked with each other. Blue meeting brown. That cliché of everything blurring out except one person actually happened. The brunette's heart may have actually skipped a beat.

Santana has _never _met anyone to be this happy upon seeing her. It's bizarre, Santana thinks. But she's not complaining. To see the blonde happy makes Santana happy, too. And to know she may be the cause of that smile is just too much Santana could handle.

"Hi," she mouths.

"Hi," Brittany mouths back, across the studio.

The blonde took the steps towards her, but was briefly interrupted by another blonde, though a guy, hugging her.

"Britt! Brittany Susan Pierce," Santana hears him say. She immediately noticed how _humungous _his mouth is. Who is he, really? "Congratulations for making it to this!" He exclaims happily.

"Yeah, thank you," Brittany mutters with a different smile, concealing her annoyance. "You've already said as much back at home, Sam. I really appreciate it."

"I always know you would be big!"

The blonde hugged him back, whispering something at his ear.

That caused Santana to regain the little amount of rationality left within her. What if Brittany's introducing her to Sam as Santana? As her _true _identity? She needs to play it cool. Her happy time is over. She quickly stepped back and walked briskly out of the studio.

"Hey!" Santana heard footsteps behind her as she was about to enter her truck and drive home. "Hey, wait up!" She clearly knows whose voice it is.

"Brittany," she turns and greets her. Santana hopes her voice betrays the bubbling excitement in her stomach. That would be embarrassing.

"Santana," she says back. "You found your way. You came."

"Yes, I did," Santana replies, closing her truck door rather lightly. Now nothing is separating her from Brittany, besides a moderate amount of space. "I told you it'll be all okay," she notes with a thoughtful smile.

"Well, if I haven't met you last night, it won't be. I'd probably mix up my speech and end up talking about Lord Tubbington's smoking addiction," Brittany tells her, slightly bashful. She's looking at Santana like _that _again. Like she's her saving grace.

"Wouldn't that be so much better, though?" asked Santana. And there lies a much bigger question underneath that, the one that Santana's finding an answer for since she's met Brittany. _Wouldn't this be easier if we hadn't met at all? _She can't decide for the answer.

And as if reading her mind completely well, Brittany answers with a quiet but firm "no."

Santana smiles at her, grateful. Because, really, when Santana weighed it out, she knew she wouldn't exchange meeting a girl like Brittany for anything else.

"Why are you leaving? I mean, you missed the whole ceremony already, so why not stay for the food and drinks instead?"

"I just meant to see you." There goes again one of those not-entirely-true-but-not-exactly-a-lie statements Santana Lopez has. She just means to see Brittany, nobody else, and not to be introduced with her friends.

Brittany's ears turned pink with that statement, though. She's blushing.

It turned Santana's stomach into knots, and in a bad way. Brittany thinks Santana's being completely honest with her, when in fact, she is not. She's holding back. And the thing is, _she has to_. The tugging feeling just got worse.

"You go," Santana forces liveliness out of her. Of course she doesn't want Brittany to go. But she doesn't want to lie with her, either. The only thing that's stopping that is if they are apart. "Don't miss your big day."

"You're sending me away from you?" Brittany's brows furrowed in a confused manner. Santana finds it adorable. "Can't you just go inside with me?"

Santana flashed her a tight-lipped smile. "I can't, Brittany. I really don't like people all that much. Either they annoy me or I annoy them. There's no in between."

"Oh," Brittany's face wavers. "But you're talking to me?"

She's grateful she can at least be completely honest with her, even if it's only at given situations. If it's possible, Santana is so ready to give herself away to Brittany. But it's not. "Some apply to the exception." She sends her a playful grin.

When Brittany blushes, the knotting and tugging feeling was now absent. Because, Santana knows, Brittany is a real exception.

"What if I go with you?" Brittany blurts out.

It is comforting Santana's not the only one with the desperate need to be with the other. She gave herself an inner applause. "You can't do that," she replies with a heartfelt smile. "You're the life of that party, more so the reason. You can't leave them hanging."

The blonde mumbles a resigned 'fine but you're the one who's leaving me hanging' unclearly, but the brunette thinks she heard it right. Good thing blushing could be hidden for her complexion.

With a pout, Brittany speaks clearer, "Will I ever see you again?"

Santana almost laughs, because that pout is totally winning her over. "Yes, you will, Brittany."

"You better show up to me, or else," she threatens mockingly. Really cute.

"Or else what?" Santana scrunches her nose in response.

"You'll know when you don't show up," said Brittany lightheartedly. Then she leans and put a feather-light kiss on Santana's cheek. "I'll be waiting."

Santana's heart is beating erratically, probably twerking as well. A kiss?! She can't believe it. Her lips barely touched her cheek, and it already shot sensations all over her body. A very fluffy feeling took over her stomach. She touched the part of her face where Brittany's lips landed, still disbelieving. If Brittany hadn't giggled, Santana wouldn't be pulled out from her daze.

"I'd better be going, but I'd like to let you know this is against my will. You must be somewhere else by now," the very endearing blonde declares sweetly. "Santana, don't let down the stars. I believe in you as much as I believe in them. I'll see you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," the brunette, still entranced, breathes, not able to form any other coherent word. She shook her head once, as if that would clear her head. When she recovered minimal amount of awareness, she saw the blonde already walking away. "What are you doing to me?!" she mutters, not meaning to be heard by Brittany.

She still probably did, though, because Santana heard her laugh gleefully.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana texted Quinn if she could spend the night at her place, because she can't be that close to Brittany after what she did to her. If Santana went back to her own place, she may not stop herself from bothering Brittany, and, well, probably get back to that stolen kiss. It's almost nothing, the kiss, from all Santana's experienced, but she can't get over it. Quinn replied that Santana could stay the night without so much interrogation. The brunette exhaled a relieved sigh.

Just by the standards of their car, Quinn's place was so much cozier than Santana's. It's a condominium, up to the 38th floor. Damn Shelby and her favoritism. The condo unit had a motif, gray and black. Dull, but classy and sophisticated. Not that Quinn's dull, but she is classy and sophisticated, if Santana's going to be asked after a drink or five. She'll never compliment the girl sober. Abstract paintings hang on her walls, and black wooden leverages stick to the walls, bearing a few books. Santana took over her gray couch, extending her feet, stretching her arms. This is nice, she thought.

"You have a better car, and now this?" Santana reacts eventually.

"Well, you could have chosen the role of the librarian, you know?" Quinn, who is seated adjacent to her, sets down her cup of tea at the small coffee table in the center. "But, no, you chose to be the normal citizen. This is your fate, don't blame it on me or anybody else," she smirks.

That statement instantly reminded her of Brittany, and the stars. She tried to push it away. She's here to get away from her, to not bother her. "Yeah, well, where's the action in sitting inside a library and watching if the kids act weird or high?"

"As if you've seen action driving around town being a shady town dweller?" Quinn retorts quickly. "And that now reminds me, any progress?"

Santana pressed a black pillow against her face and groans. "Ugh, Quinn, no," she exclaims angrily to the pillow, hence the sound coming muffled. She lifts the material and looks at her blonde friend. "I don't know what's happening to me. I'm so close to believing that the harder I look, the less I'll actually see. I've been roaming around town and there are no indications for what I'm searching for. Maybe the fact that this drug den is connected to a much more complex system aka Jessie St. James Army makes me obsessed about it."

"Don't call it Jessie St. James Army," Quinn remarks, irritated. "You make it sound like a fanbase or something. It's an evil organization. I think JSJ Maniac Faction is more fitting."

"Ha," Santana half scoffs, half laughs. Imitating a very cheery advertiser, she says, "Come and be one of us! The requirements are easy! You must be a high-schooler, with the desire to be in the influence of drugs. We are the faction that needs no fashion, because in the end, the world will be under our control. JSJ Maniac Faction!"

Quinn chuckles by the sight of her. "Promising," she says. "See, after all that advertising work, you've learned something. That's a good start, Santana. Though, I recommend you work more on the rhymes."

"Whatever," Santana rolls her eyes. "So, did you and Blaine make progress?"

"I'm afraid we didn't. However, I haven't spoken to Blaine since lunch break, so I really don't know about him. All I had around me all day was horny teenagers, drooling. Flattering and disgusting at the same time," Quinn makes a grimacing face. Santana can only imagine. "Fear not, for it is only our first day. I will report to Shelby we're having difficulties finding the den, more so breaking in. Artie may have something for us."

It's Santana's turn to grimace. "Q, your vocabulary's really starting to imitate from that of Gayberry's. Don't do that so much, will you?"

Quinn tilts her head questioningly. "Does it now?"

Santana just makes a grumpy tone in response.

"Up, up!" Quinn commands with a smirk. "We're eating dinner and you're going to tell me why you wanted to sleepover."

The brunette grunts but follows anyway.

* * *

"I just received a text from Blaine," Quinn says with a mouthful of pizza. Neither of the girls knows how to cook, so they always end up with deliveries and takeouts. Easy.

"What does it say?" Santana asks, chugging down her soda.

"He's at a club with a friend he met earlier today at school. He's name is Elliott and he's being introduced to Elliott's bandmate."

"Like I care," Santana says sarcastically.

"No, no, it's not just that. That bar he is in now is full of teenagers. Mostly from the high school he's going to. That place could be the place we're looking for."

Santana took a last bite of her pizza and says, "Awesome. Let's get working, then, shall we?"

Quinn flashed her a smile that says let's do it and tells her, "Just let me get covered up first. I don't want students to think their librarian had a lackluster high school life and wants to party with them."

"Don't worry, Q. I'll prove them wrong in case they suggest otherwise," Santana winks at her. The two of them were almost inseparable during high school, except the times one of them would get so annoyed with the other. They actually end up slapping one another at a time. Their friendship still functions and stands strong to this day. Or so that's what the two girls think.

Pushing herself against the table to stand up, the blonde smiles at her slyly, remembering how Santana and her were at the top of the social ladder back in high school. Those glorious thoughts were interrupted, though, when it crossed her mind that her snarky friend was supposed to be sleeping over for reasons undeclared. "Why is it that you needed to stay here again, S?"

"Um," Santana clears her throat. Not a thing she does, ever. "It doesn't matter now. We got more serious things to face than that." She's looking everywhere but Quinn, as if embarrassed.

"Tell me," Quinn says, always so impatient.

"No." Santana stands up as well and was planning to leave Quinn alone. But she can't. The blonde pulled strands of her hair rather forcefully and swiftly. "Bitch! That hurt!"

"Just tell me," Quinn speaks with a victorious smirk.

Scratching her head, as if mending it, Santana wonders aloud, "Why are you so physical?" She raises her free hand and punched Quinn at the arm just for revenge and fairness. She got a satisfying 'ow' in response. "Fine," the brunette huffs, "Would you believe me if I said I like a girl? A genuine like¸ that is."

Quinn squints at her, scrutinizing the friend she's known for years. "Nope," she finally decides, "You're right. This is a waste of time. Let's get moving."

The brunette chuckles because she can't believe it either. Santana Lopez genuinely likes a girl. It seems weird, Santana knows, because they just talked for a night and add to that the fact that one Santana Lopez does her best to avoid being entangled with attachment or feelings or anything of the sort. And what's even weirder, she isn't fighting it. She feels like Brittany and her just fit. It's beyond her control.

* * *

As it turns out, the club Blaine asked them to go to was fully packed. The stereos were booming and you had to squeeze your way through the dancing bodies if you want to get past. Quinn ended up wearing tight black jeans, tight black t-shirt, and a black baseball cap. Because why not? Santana borrowed Quinn's denim jeans changing her khaki shorts and still wore the same dull maroon sweater just because she can. Totally a fabulous get-up for the both of them.

Quinn was leading and Santana was just trailing behind her. Being her grumpy self, she curses everytime someone bumps into her, whether it was intentionally or unintentionally. She's had three guys hit her, the one whispering 'nice tits' on her ear which makes Santana want to gag. She replied with a sharp 'suck my dick, loser.' There's also one clumsy blonde girl with a drink on hand that stepped on Santana's foot. 'Watch it, blondie,' Santana gritted through her teeth. The blonde murmurs a quick 'sorry' then goes away. And with that hair color, Santana was reminded of Brittany. By that moment, however pissed Santana was by all the people who have hit her was now forgotten. Simply by the thought of Brittany.

When Quinn spotted Blaine, she saw he was talking to two guys. The other one must be Elliott, she concludes. Quinn asks Santana to go to Blaine and collect him because she can't reveal herself to those people since she's supposedly a librarian. Santana agrees relentlessly.

Their gazes met, and Blaine motioned his hands for Santana to come closer to where he's stood. The Latina was greeted with polite smiles by the two guys his co-undercover agent was talking to. She returns their politeness and smiles as well.

"This is Jennifer," Blaine introduces her over the ear-shattering music, not missing any beat. "She's a close friend of my sister, which asked her to tag along."

"Hello, Jennifer," the guy with black hair half-hugs her; half because it's just one arm. "I'm Elliott, but you can call me Starchild."

Santana hugs him back and says Starchild is way more badass than any other name she's ever heard.

Before the other guy could speak, the one with the brown hair, Blaine beat him to it. Santana notes the excited gleam in his friend's eyes when he spoke. There's something there.

"Jen, this is Kurt Hummel," he nods vigorously. "He owns this club and he's bandmates with Elliott. He doesn't go to school with us because, well, obviously, he's already graduated."

It isn't only Santana who got a person to like, then.

"Lovely to meet you, Jennifer," Kurt says with a raise of his glass. "Devon and I were talking for a while now and he hasn't mentioned his sister for once; more so the friend of her sister." It isn't accusing or anything, just plain observation, something to say.

Santana doesn't even flinch. If you care about details like she and her teammate does, patching up lies with lies will never be hard. "Yeah, Devon was raised to not answer anything that wasn't asked." She nods at him at once. "Lovely to meet you, too, Kurt."

"Do you think he'll answer me if I asked why he's got so much gel in his hair?" asked Kurt. "Yeah, why the hair, Devon?" Starchild adds.

Santana cackles at that. "He was also raised to not let anything go to waste. See," she nudges Blaine by her elbow, "Devon could take up one bottle of gel, up to the last drop." It's truly opportune how even under false identity, Santana could still manage to make fun of her friends.

The two guys laughed and Santana feels like he could be friends with these guys. If they're not entangled with the JSJ drug shenanigan, that is.

Kurt shouts over them, "It's pretty packed tonight. Let's get to the back. We could talk more clearly there."

The three of them followed Kurt as Santana shoots a glance to Quinn, who was shadily watching their exchange. The blonde just nods and blends with the crowd.

* * *

Red lights were illuminating what Santana supposes was the VIP room. The sounds from outside were muffled, and it was evidently quieter here. No one occupies the room except them, obviously. At the farther right, there was a miniature stage and a complete band set – drums, guitar, piano, and microphone. There was also a pool of billiards at the back of a very huge couch at the middle. Across it, a wide flat TV screen was on the wall, pitch black. Different superfluous decoration surround the room that Santana can't be bothered to notice. It really seems cozy here. And if Santana wasn't on her undercover self, she would totally dibs this place.

"Drinks for you, Jennifer," Elliott hands him a glass.

"Thank you, Starchild," Santana mutters.

The brunette raises his eyebrows suggestively to Blaine, as if conveying he picked the right friends. Blaine just rolls his eyes at her.

"Nice place," Santana comments eventually, after being seated on the couch. It seems pink, but with the light, she can't really tell. Not like it matters, because for all Santana cares, it's super comfy.

"Yeah, well, it's not mine," Kurt shrugs. "It's my brother's. I'm more of a fashion, and Broadway advocate myself, but if variety calls for it, I'm sure up for a band."

By the look Elliott is giving Kurt, Santana knew she shouldn't ask about why his brother isn't handling this club and why Kurt isn't singing Broadway songs or tailoring suits instead.

"A band composed of two people?" Santana inquires, just to be clear. If they were a band, like they were claiming to be, they should at least be four, right?

"Mainly, it's just us," Elliott answers the question. "We call for the other members randomly and they stand in the background to play the instruments. It comes hard to have Kurt and I in one band since the superstar factor could be overwhelming. We both know that, so we're the only ones left."

"Where'd the others go?" Blaine speaks to no one in particular. He seems really engaged about knowing more about the two guys, specifically Kurt.

"We're originally four, but Sebastian and Karofsky quit," Kurt tells him. "Team dynamics isn't really existent with those two around. I'm certain to say Starchild and I have the perfect chemistry."

Santana takes sip of the drink Elliott has given her, which tastes fantastic, and says, "So you're dating?"

"I meant career-wise, Jennifer," Kurt notes her with a grin.

At least Blaine's boy crush could still go on.

Later on, Santana asked Kurt, the owner of this club, about why is tonight so packed and if that's normal. He told her that it isn't so much normal, because on any other night, on a Thursday just like tonight, as far as he knows, the club isn't this crowded. It's even low-key, he adds. Kurt informs Santana that maybe the reason for the population for tonight is because of the Senior high school students meeting up and partying it all out. He also tells Santana that he doesn't know why are they so wired, not really sure if they're just really wild, or if they get the booze, or it's something else. Kurt says he's just the owner, not the _immaculate_ watcher.

After a while, they continued to chat about anything, all getting along. And that surprises Santana. Maybe it's the free drinks. They're like, a gay alliance or something. Santana's gaydar never fails.

"A dance studio just opened up today, Devon, did you know that?" Kurt says. "And it's owned by my friend. She and our friends are actually here right now."

Santana's heart skipped another beat by that new idea she just heard. Brittany's here. The girl who kissed her cheek is here. And so is she. Yes. But so are Blaine and Quinn. She is so dead in case they all crossed paths. Not if Santana could stop it, though.

"Well, let's go meet them!" Elliott suggests. "I'm meeting so many people in a day. Amazing."

"Is that okay with you two?" Kurt addresses Blaine and Santana. "I genuinely loved your company, but sometimes we need to get those hips movin' and dancin'!"

Blaine chuckles, the twinkle in his eyes still present, "Absolutely."

Santana agrees as well, and they all set up to leave the VIP room. She won't meet Brittany with the three guys surrounding her, though. However tempting it is to see the blonde, Santana has to be careful. The mess she got herself into may just get messier.

She received a text from Lucy Hastings.

_I just went to the CRs and saw a bunch of girls injecting themselves something. It's like a serum. I can't tell. I'm in a cubicle and you go here now. Tag along Devon with you. Be quick._

Santana's adrenaline is starting to pump. Are they getting closer? She truly hopes they are. She flashed the text to Blaine as she excused herself from Kurt and Elliott to go to the bathroom.

* * *

"Lucy?" Santana calls out in the girls' bathroom. No one was there and the life in every cubicle seemed to be sucked out, all went to the party ongoing outside. She noticed one of the sinks is broken and water was hissing violently out of it. "Lucy, it's Jennifer. Devon's outside. Are you here?"

"Yes," Quinn says, as the third door from the row of cubicle popped open. "Jen, it's the most disturbing thing I've ever seen. I swear." She emerges from the stall, arms crossed protectively, expression bothered.

"What?" the Latina, though not following, rubs the shoulder of her long-time friend, as if giving the assurance that isn't asked. "What did you see?"

"The bunch of girls, I told you," Quinn was looking at her through the mirror. "At first, they were laughing. Easy-going, partied-out, that kind of laugh. The laugh you know they're having fun. I was acting like I was checking out my face on the mirror, though they don't really seem to care. After a while, this one broad-shouldered girl pulled out something from her purse. It's shaped like a book with a black velvety cover, though it didn't contain pages. It contained those serum-like bottles on the left face and one syringe on the other. They were five, and all of them injected themselves. And that's when things got different."

Santana was intently listening, despite the fact it's still unclear where Quinn's story was heading. "What happened?" she asks.

"All the laughter died down," Quinn purses her lips. "That gleam in their eyes were gone and it was changed to something, I don't know, hollow? I saw it, San- I mean, Jen – I saw it, Jennifer. It's like they've transformed."

"Are you saying that you just saw the drugs from JSJ Maniac Faction and his new converted soldiers?" Santana clarifies, incredulous.

"I think I did," the blonde nods slowly. "Do you see that faucet?" Quinn averts her gaze, directing it to the broken sink. Santana says she does. "The broad-shouldered girl who has the serum was the one who broke it, just moments ago."

"What, they turned mad and destroy things?"

"I'm not sure, no," Quinn tells her thoughtfully. "But I think she only meant to wash her hands, and she wasn't aware her grip was that strong already. She saw me watching her and she stared. Her vision is aimed at me, but it goes beyond me. For once I thought she'll hit me, but she didn't. Instead, she only smiled devilishly at me then winks. It's the most unsettling thing ever."

"Is she hot?" Santana bites down her lower lip. All that horror on Quinn's face could be too much she can handle. If something's unsettling Quinn, Santana should settle her back. She needs Quinn to be contained and composed. It's the only way she knows how; to jest and to be inappropriate.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "She's creepy. If there's something she is, it's not hot."

"You need to set aside the transformation thing you just witnessed, Miss Hastings," Santana says every word cautiously. "We made progress going to this club, and we're going further. Is that okay?"

Quinn inhales through her nose, then exhales through her mouth. She didn't forget how to breathe, did she? "Yeah," she says eventually, shaking her head, shaking the images of earlier occurrence away. "Okay."

"We are going to blend with the crowd outside and see if the girl who broke the faucet you've seen is still here. If we can find her, we'll try to ask where she's getting those serums." Santana gives her friend a reassuring smirk, "Just play it cool, Hastings."

"Totally, JLow," Quinn smirks back, already recovering from her shaken state. She tugged her baseball cap deeper to her head.

* * *

**a/n: **I got 3 favorites on a day! How awesome is that? (!) xo


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn was the first to blend with the crowd, knowing she could easily recognize the exact face of the girl they're looking for. Besides she has broad shoulders, the target girl has long black hair, full bangs and dark green eyes, Quinn relayed to her two co-agents. Blaine and Santana hang back for a little. Santana gave Blaine a brief summary of Quinn's experience from the bathroom and speculated a bit. For efficiency and whatever it's worth, the three of them parted in different parts of the club. Once they've strained every face, they would go back to the same spot they regrouped – just across the restrooms.

EDM music blasted through the club's speakers and neon lights strike the ceiling and the walls. It's hard to identify people unless the dancing lights don't hit them or if you don't _exactly_ know them. Santana was shaking her hips along the beat, keeping her reason subtle. Her moves weren't big and showy; it's just enough to make herself fit in the crowd and to not make herself look stupid amongst everybody else. Her eyes scan every dancing being, mostly the girls with broad shoulders. The music changed into a faster beat and Santana needed to keep up. At her peripheral view, she felt someone watching her so she turned her gaze.

And there was Brittany; Brittany standing still with a drink in hand in the middle of a wild mob. Brittany, Brittany, Brittany.

When she realized she's caught staring, her eyes crinkle as she tries to suppress the forming embarrassed smile on her lips.

Santana's heart started to beat madly again, as if all the people surrounding them went into it and decided to jump altogether. Without thinking, she's already taking the steps toward the beautiful blonde. She's on a task, right at this moment, and she's postponing it just for her. It's not contesting her will.

And as if fate knew better, somebody bumps to her, already halfway reaching Brittany. She grabbed the elbow of the stranger who bumped into her so as to steady herself. Whoever this somebody was, he or she is pretty hulking.

"Ow," the stranger reacts to Santana's touch, removing her grip and holding Santana by the shoulder. "Don't press on that, I just got injected," she shouts to Santana's ear, "You okay?"

The stranger was apparently a she. She's got long black hair, full bangs, dark green eyes and the unmistakable broad shoulders. It's her. The one they're looking for, it's her.

Santana's purpose to reach Brittany quickly evaporates as she realizes this. She grabbed the girl's waist as if to convey she's interested. "I'm fine," she shouts back, "You got injected?" They were dancing now. Santana's not sure if it's just a feeling or if Brittany's really boring her eyes at the back of her head.

"I did!" the girl exclaims happily, verging boastfulness. "It feels so good! I feel like I'm with the clouds. And you know what? I got myself extra strength! Totally awesome."

"Why do you say so?" Santana feigns an amused expression.

"I broke the sink back at the bathroom!" The girl laughs loudly. "Don't tell anyone, but I did that," she says with fits of hysterical laughter. "You haven't injected yourself, no?" She pushes her back lightly, looking at her eyes. It's green and hollow, just like Quinn told them. "Tsk, tsk. You should! You won't regret it!"

"Inject myself with what?"

"_The_ drug, you dumbass," she answers as if asked what the color of the sky is.

"Where do I get it?" Santana inquires in a normal manner, containing herself. She is so ready to leave this broad-shouldered girl once she gives her the answer.

But the girl never gave her the answer. Well, not exactly.

The girl was whipped away rather vehemently from Santana by a huge guy whining 'Babe!' She muttered a 'puck,' whether to her or to the guy, Santana can't tell. The Latina thinks it's just a 'fuck' that came out wrong since the pull of the guy was so forceful. When she goes and tries to ask the girl again, she wasn't given the chance. They're already making out.

Santana still tries, though. "Where? The drug, where do I get it?"

"Puck!" The girl says again, entirely annoyed she was being distracted in the middle of a tongue-licking battle.

"She says fuck off, lady," the guy says and tugs the girl rather forcefully once more.

And they're gone.

Santana was left running a hand through her hair, perplexed how to get those drugs from 'fuck'. It doesn't make sense. Fuck.

* * *

The air shifted as another body occupied the space beside her. Wearing her usual grumpy expression, expecting the stranger would probably be sweaty and horny just like everybody else, she turns around to shoo him or her away. But it's not. It's the most beautiful blonde that has graced her eyes. Santana bit her tongue to help the prepared insults from falling.

"Hey," she greets, running another hand through her hair. Besides the consciousness, the brunette is also wary about how her encounter with the broad-shouldered girl came off to Brittany. Instead of going straight to the blonde, she stopped by with another girl. Game ruined.

"You did show up to me," Brittany notes, expression unreadable.

"I told you I will," Santana starts. Is it just her, or the awkward tension is really heavy? "Um, Brittany, a while ago, I was really meaning to reach you, but things just got in the way." One Santana Lopez never explains. But that's before Brittany, yep. "You know, work things."

"No, no, of course you had work to do," Brittany shakes her head, "I understand that." Except she doesn't. Santana was pretty close and intimate to the girl she's dancing with earlier. What, with all the skin-feeling and head-touching. It didn't feel right for Brittany. Though, obviously, she has no right to feel this way.

Santana swallows a lump forming in her throat. Maybe it's the guilt shaping up due to the lie she's going to tell the blonde she likes. "I work in an advertising company, right? Well, we had to see what attracts club-goers on a Thursday night." She feigns a cheery smile, "So, Miss Pierce, why are you here tonight?"

The knotting and tugging feeling washed down against Santana when she saw Brittany believed her. It's twisting and guilt-wrenching. She doesn't like it.

"I'm here in this club tonight because me and my friends are celebrating the opening day of my studio," she responds. "But, I'm here right beside you because I saw you dancing a while ago and I knew I had to watch you. I knew." Her tone was playful, but she means what she's saying.

"No," Santana whines, "You didn't." She's trying so hard to push away those bad feelings. If it equals to seeing Brittany smile and more, Santana's willing to bear all those terrible emotions.

"I did," Brittany bites her lower lip and started to imitate Santana's movements. "You were going like this," she sways her hips lightly, losing herself to the song a little. "Then like this," she threw her hands up freely, demonstrating what she saw from the brunette.

Brittany is attractive, not just when she speaks, but more so when she dances. "I'm humiliating," Santana manages to react. All that's running inside the brunette's mind is how _sexy _the blonde is being right now. Totally striking, hell yes.

"You're not," she chuckles a little, pulling Santana's hands, inviting her to dance as well. "If there's anything you are, it's not humiliating."

Right then, Santana was thankful for the dim and glowing dancing lights because she's pretty sure she's blushing fifty shades of red by that statement. She fell for the dance Brittany was asking, and the blonde lead tan hands to her shoulders. Pale arms held Santana's waist.

"We're not _slow-dancing_ in a club, right? With this kind of music?" Santana has a funny expression on her face, combined giddiness, anxiousness, and happiness.

"Not like it matters," said Brittany bashfully.

And it doesn't. If in case it does, Santana could only care less. If she gets to hold Brittany like this, and to be _this _close to her – then screw everything else. They were slowly dancing just as how you would on a David Pomeranz song, and they're exactly goofs. Both girls laugh, but they continue on dancing.

"Santana," Brittany says. The owner of the name wanted to shudder by the way it sounds from the blonde's mouth. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah" was all the brunette could muster.

"Firstly, I wish we were in a different place when you decided to show up to me. Not that I'm complaining, because I wouldn't wish to _not _see you in another time. Or ever. I'd always want to see you. It's just that it's harder to talk here," Brittany shouts at her ear. Santana giggles and nods, both admiring and meaning to let the girl she likes to go on. "Secondly, I've been thinking about you, Santana."

Unlike earlier, when Brittany shouts to her ear this time, it doesn't sound urgent. Their faces are so close, and Santana can't tell if the way Brittany speaks is nervous or calm. Maybe it's a cross between the two, though that's weird because calm and nervous are opposites. Santana didn't bother pinpointing which is which since that fluffy feeling in her stomach is back. On full wave. Another "yeah" was Santana's reply. Her brain may be short-circuiting and unable to form any other coherent word because _holy shit, _Brittany's thinking about her?! Her hands wraps around Brittany's well-defined neck so she could steady herself. This slow-dancing thing is getting serious.

"Yeah, I have," Brittany repeats, as if assuring Santana that she's not kidding. "It's like since we met, whatever I do, I always manage to think about you. Even if I'm with my friends, my cat, or anyone else – I always do. Is that weird?"

By this time, Santana has gathered enough self-sufficiency to respond properly to the very beautiful blonde she's dancing with. "It's not," she says, "because I have, too. Thinking about you, I mean."

Brittany's breathing actually hitched by hearing that. She brought their foreheads together, as if actually dancing to a _very _slow and romantic song. She hopes it's not too much, the action she's doing, because for people who just met a day ago, this forehead-touching thing could be overwhelming. She knows it's not too much for Santana, though; except the fact that she's not pulling away, but also because Brittany feels like they didn't meet _just a day _ago. "It's good you're fair," she jokes. Then, "It's like I'm lost just by thoughts of you, you know?"

"_Lost?_" Santana echoes, that funny expression never leaving her face. "Well, listen to the song," she waves her pointer finger beside her head, "_I will find you_." She can't help but to cackle loudly at how gross and cheesy that sounds, making a few heads turn to their direction. "Oh God, Brittany, what are you doing to me?"

The blonde didn't laugh, though she seems purely amused. Happy, even. She didn't say anything after that and lead their dance to a more groovy and club-ish type. Doing that, she needed to let of go of Santana's waist.

Running a hand through her hair, embarrassed, Santana asks, "Forget I said that, will you?" The two girls weren't touching anymore, but somehow they feel like they're still connected. "That's fucking gross, isn't it?"

The blonde, with a teasing grin, simply shakes her head no to both questions. All her life, Brittany thinks all she wants to be is to be found. That's so far from being gross, what Santana said. She winked at her. Just because she can.

If winks could kill, Santana must have already died. And then she would ask Brittany to wink at Jessie St. James, so he'd just be gone, easy and quick. And then it hit her. She's supposed to be working. Jessie St. James, the drug, the girl, the 'fuck.' She's an undercover agent. She has Quinn and Blaine waiting for her. Shit, shit, shit. Her dancing slowed until it halted.

"Is everything okay?" Brittany shouts curiously when she saw Santana stopped moving. She stopped moving, too. "Santana?"

"Um, Brittany," Santana puts her hands in each back pocket of Quinn's denim jeans, feeling awkward. "I, uh, have to get back." Why does she sound like this? It's not like they wouldn't see each other again, right? They would.

"Oh, yeah," Brittany says, realizing she also had her own friends waiting for her. "Right, of course. You're working, duh," she says dumbly.

Mirroring Brittany's statement this morning, Santana flashes her sweetest smile and says, "I'd better be going, but I'd like you to know this is against my will."

Brittany just rolls her eyes. That's her line, and Santana remembered, even said it again. It's freaking adorable. "Find me again?"

Santana half-scoffs and half-laughs because that's her own cheesiness being used against her right there. She mutters an "I will find you" anyway. Before heading towards the CRs, Santana recalled Brittany still has an unpaid debt to her. Taking this in, she leans and pecks Brittany's cheek, a bit lingering than the blonde's kiss. She whispers to Brittany's ears, "You stole a kiss from me; I'm just taking it back."

And then she left.

* * *

"Did you just get here?" Santana took wide strides until she reached where Quinn and Blaine stood. Her two friends were still heedful, searching. While as for herself, she was trying so hard to conceal the smile forming her lips. She's just giddy. She kissed Brittany after all. "I'm done looking."

"Looking for a lay, Jennifer?" Quinn spun to look at Santana, inquisitive though not accusing.

That started a ramble in Santana's mind. Did Quinn see her slow-dancing with Brittany? Did she hear her loud laugh? Did she distinguish Brittany knew her as _Santana_?! Did she know how happy Brittany made her feel? Or worse, was she caught kissing Brittany's cheek? Quinn can't possibly do all that, can she? "No, I wasn't looking for someone to hookup with, _Lucy_," she replies guardedly. "And I found her."

"You did?" Blaine walks closer so they're forming a small huddle.

"Well, she found me. She bumped into me, making me lose my balance, so I had to hold onto something to steady me," the brunette agent explains, "I grabbed her elbows and she immediately reacted that it hurts. All the description Lucy gave matches her – broad shoulders, green eyes, full bangs, black hair. It's her. Later on, she admitted that she just injected herself. And even the broken sink."

"Way to go, Jen," Quinn nods. "Did you get what we needed?"

"That's the thing," Santana's eyes were downcast. "When I asked where she got the drugs, she kept saying 'fuck.' She was high so I don't really know if she means what she says."

"Fuck?" Blaine echoes, scrunching his face.

"Fuck as in _fuck_?" Quinn repeats. "What, you need to sell your body to get the drug? I thought it was cheap?"

"I thought I heard '_puck,_' with a p," Santana adds. "But his boyfriend was there being aggressive, so I'm thinking 'fuck' just came out wrong."

"How many times did you ask?" Their leader inquires.

"Twice."

Blaine clarifies, "And her responses were the same?"

"'_Puck_,' that's what she said," Santana affirmed.

The three agents turned silent, unsure of what to make out of Santana's retrieved information. They made progress for their first day, but it sure as hell ain't enough. They need more viable answers.

Quinn decides to conclude their clubbing experience since it's already past midnight and she thinks they've done well for today. She declares, "Alright, you guys, we need to get moving. Great job for today. We'll talk to Artie and Shelby tomorrow. Let's go."

The remaining agents followed her without a word.

"You're still staying at my place?" Quinn asks Santana.

The brunette beauty nods at once. She's so damn thankful Quinn didn't catch her with Brittany. She was so close to believing that she did.

* * *

Santana was staring at Quinn's ceiling, now lying on the blonde's queen-sized bed. She had her back against Quinn because that girl could be really cuddly and clingy when she sleeps. Her body would appreciate the rest from sleep, but her mind just won't let her. A lot of thoughts were taking place in her brain by each second passing. There's the thought of the JSJ Maniac Faction, the drug, the hollow look on the girl's eyes, her abusive boyfriend, and this whole taking-over-the-world idea. But amongst all, there's the thought of a very beautiful blonde with the bluest eyes, Brittany. While holding each other, they slow-danced to a very upbeat song. It seems stupid, but Santana finds it adorable. Mostly, both of them confessed of being an inhabitant on each other's mind. Santana's supposed to stop, she knows, but she just can't. Brittany's already starting to grow on her. And just, _so many damned thoughts_.

Before the three agents settled for bed, they went to Quinn's condo unit first to sort things, to wrap their minds to what they've just experienced. Their leader prepared them a cup of hot tea, by which her two agents received gratefully.

"I just don't get it," Blaine, uncrossing his legs, sets his cup down on the small coffee table on Quinn's living room. "What does '_fuck' _have to do with anything?"

"Fuck is everything," Santana says nonchalantly.

Quinn sends her a death glare. "I have two theories in my mind," she states, "Either you have to give yourself away in exchange of the drug, or 'fuck' or 'puck' is a name. A codename, something like that."

"I would reside on your first theory, Q," Santana stands up, planning to change her clothes. She feels sticky. "I mean, why would someone name himself or herself as 'fuck,' right?"

"You said you heard 'puck' with a p. It's possible it's a name," Quinn reiterates.

Ignoring that, Santana goes on, "Besides that, Jessie St. James does sound like a sex-deprived pig. I'm saying this without knowing his face so that should tell us something. All those girls you saw at the CR, they're all doable."

"Santana," Blaine says with a reprimanding tone.

"What? I'm just saying." Santana leaves her two friends to go to Quinn's room, pulling her sweater above her head in the process. "Oi, Lucy, I'm borrowing clothes."

The blonde just rolled her eyes while Blaine covered his.

Quinn turned to Blaine then. "Blaine, you need to be more watchful amidst the students," she instructs. "Now we got a hint: Subjects inject themselves at the back of their elbow, and they bear a hollow look on their eyes afterwards. Take note of anyone who has a 'puck' with their name. I'm going to go through the library's record to also find a lead."

"Yeah, I got it," Blaine nods. "Unlike Santana, I would reside on your second theory, Quinn. It really disconcerts me thinking about your first one."

"We shouldn't pick what's more reasonable and slash or bearable; anything is possible with that maniac," Quinn replies indignantly. "We'll give an update to Shelby later and ask one from Artie. That extra strength and weird look from the girl really gave me the impression Jessie St. James is capable of controlling the youth's mind." She shakes away a shudder. "I'll see you then."

"Alright, good night," Blaine stands up and hugs Quinn. "We'll get him."

"Hell we will," Santana buts in, now clad in a very minimal dressing, composed of her panties and a thin-strapped tank top.

"Santana!" Blaine grimaces and covers his eyes once more. "Put some clothes on, will you?"

That only made the two girls chuckle.

"I am wearing some," Santana says innocently.

"Stop polluting my mind," the only guy in the room mumbles.

Santana kissed him at the cheek and mutters a 'good night, Mr. Hummel' while Quinn escorted him towards the door. Blaine never had the chance to retort, but Santana sure did embarrass him.

Once Blaine left, Quinn took the teacups to her sink to fix up and get some sleep already. Of course, Santana would be where the food is. Her very dear friend was standing in front of the refrigerator, scanning its contents, while her mouth is already biting on a Twix bar.

"You're a parasite," Quinn tells her, while washing the cups.

"Love you, too," Santana replies without taking her eyes off of the fridge. "Though I'm bothered Midget Berry has been starting to plague your vocabulary, I'm glad Manhands hasn't invaded your diet yet. Twix is heaven."

"That's two insults in one sentence," Quinn reprimands her. "There are cucumber balls in there, though." There's really none but she just needed to say that to annoy Santana for equilibrium.

Santana made a face. "Cucumber? _Balls?_" She slammed the fridge door closed. "That's two insults in one sentence."

Quinn narrowed her eyes at her, while drying her hands. Good thing they've been friends for a long time now. Frustrating banter like this is just an element of their friendship. "Go to sleep, Satan."

"I will, in a bit," the said Satan mumbles annoyingly. She gives Quinn her full attention by now, meaning significant talk. "So, are we concluding the drug occurrence in this town ultimately connects to JSJ Maniac Faction?"

"We are, I believe," Quinn says, grabbing the remaining Twix bar from Santana's hands. She popped the chocolate bar to her mouth and said, "I won't be surprised if those girls I saw would be reported to be robbing a bank or something similarly unlawful."

"You know what's unlawful?" Santana had her face contorted in a grouchy expression. She didn't even wait for Quinn's 'what?' before going on. "What's unlawful is you stealing my food! Bitch," she mutters angrily then walks away.

"Yeah," Quinn snorts amusedly. How her brunette friend manages to shift moods is beyond her. "That's right. Go to sleep and dream about that girl you like! Good night!" She calls out after her.

Santana just rushed walking and didn't respond to that. And it made Quinn laugh harder. Entertaining.

* * *

**a/n: **I got 5 follows! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh

('Find You' by Zedd was the song I had in mind while writing the Brittana scene here. wink wink)


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up, Santana was restrained to move. Pale arms hugged her waist, and blonde hair was splayed at the pillows. Her heart started to hammer by the idea, but only to resolve to its steady pace once again upon realization that this is just her very cuddly, clingy and heavy-sleeper friend, Quinn. Not the blonde she slow-danced with last night. Right. However annoyed she is by the blonde's antics while asleep, Santana was careful not to wake Quinn. She seems so peaceful Santana would hate herself to disrupt that. Everybody needs a rest. She herself didn't get a lot, but it wasn't inadequate, either. She patiently lifted her friend's arm, and quietly clammed out of bed.

Santana suited herself in the pants she wore last night and borrowed yet another loose-fitting tank top from Quinn's closet. On her way out, she saw Quinn's black cap and took it as well. And being the sentimental and grateful friend that she is, Santana left a note at Quinn's fridge. But not without grabbing another bar of Twix, of course.

* * *

_If I am the parasite, you are my host_

_You cuddle when you sleep it's so gross_

_These will be returned, all things borrowed_

_After all, you are my greatest bitch friend beyond tomorrow_

_- Santana xo_

* * *

The brunette isn't sure why she's bouncy upon being reunited with her unfortunate truck. She didn't even wear a scowl when she exited Quinn's building; she even gave a smile or two to the guards. And a scowl is like her default facial expression. Is it the Twix bar? Santana can't really tell. She opened the truck door evenly, a thing she won't do in any other day, and it creaked noisily due to rust and age. Santana wasn't pissed off by that idea; though she would certainly be, in any other day.

But this isn't any other day.

This is the day when she'll 'find' Brittany again. At her own place. She'll inform the beautiful blonde they're under the same roof and _finding _each other wouldn't be so much of a burden. The thought of never bothering Brittany again has become an unacceptable thought to Santana's mind since last night, especially when the other girl admitted of thinking about her.

Just like the stars, Brittany's beyond her.

Humming a JT song and pulling Quinn's cap further to her head, Santana put her other arm atop the truck's window place and drove back to her temporary home. How she will approach Brittany didn't actually disturb her since she is too giddy and happy to think.

To Brittany she will go.

* * *

Finally pleased with her outfit, which composes of a loose grey off-shoulder blouse and darker sweatpants, Brittany sling her miniature duffel bag to her shoulder and decided to go to her workplace. She's aiming for a look that compromises for her work, a dance teacher, without overdoing it, either. She looks dance-y enough, doesn't she?

For today, she isn't going to teach yet; she's just there to accommodate possible enrollees and students. Proper classes don't start until next week. Mike Chang, her long time friend that will be helping her in running her dance studio, will also introduce assistant dance teachers. Brittany's glad for that since she doesn't really know who to hire for that matter. Brittany is not sure whether Sam knows another dance or move besides his ever-so-famous _body roll_ after all.

She's usually eager for a new day, especially now, seeing as technically, it's her first day at work. It's innate to Brittany to be optimistic and to see good in everything and everyone despite the fact that this world is stinking and a miserable place. But those characteristics which she possesses aren't the main reason for her excitement right now. Instead, it's the thought that by any moment now, Santana may show up to her and find her once more. With that cloud in her head, it's more than enough of a reason to fix a smile upon her face.

Thanking the stars Brittany will be, because by swinging her door open, there stands one Santana with her arm in midair, welcomed even before knocking. Although the day's just about to start for Brittany, it has already been completed, courtesy of Santana. That swarm of butterflies in her stomach seems to have mutated to wilder beings.

"Hey," the brunette greets in a soft voice, her eyes quickly skimming the exposed shoulder of Brittany. "I told you I'll find you."

"Yeah, you did," the blonde nods happily, "You never fail me."

In response, the other girl clicked her tongue and tilted her head in a shy manner and pocketed her hands at the back of her pants.

Santana is so pretty, Brittany thought and she has never been so sure of a thing. "You have to practice more on timing, though," she says playfully. "I was just leaving for work."

"Ah, _timing_." Santana's face wears a conflicted expression for a moment but was gone just as quickly. She beamed at Brittany. "Yeah, you go on and be a busy lady. I'll be seeing you again, for sure," she tells her confidently.

Brittany gently closes the door behind her and steps closer to the very beautiful being opposite her. She asks, "How could you be so certain?" On second thought, however, she shouldn't have asked that. She doesn't care how Santana comes across her, she just cares Santana finds her. But she already had.

"I'm living upstairs, Brittany." The other girl seems glad to be answering anyway.

"What?" The blonde can't organize her thoughts in a flash. "Upstairs? Where April Rhodes used to live? You're staying there? You live so close to me?"

"I am," Santana affirms.

Brittany's heart raced, and she was truly glad for that news. After Santana set off last night at the bar, she has to admit she didn't want the brunette to go just yet. She wanted to see more of Santana. Sure, Brittany had her friends to spend the night with, but there's something _different _about her. Maybe it's the way Santana looks at her, like she's happy to be with Brittany, or maybe it's the way how she patiently listens to her and gives her undivided attention, or it could be an entirely special thing. Brittany can't really tell, but Santana just…fills her in way no one could. Some people just do that. Maybe it's too early to decide, but Brittany thinks she has found _that _person for her. Everything just clicks with this girl.

"That's awesome," she says in understatement. "But since when? You're just moving in today?"

"Um, no." Brittany finds Santana so adorable when she falters with her words. "I actually moved in the night I drove you home. Uh, I didn't stay here last night, obviously," she clears her throat, "I just don't want to disturb you that night given it's already late and you had that ribbon-cutting event in the morning, so."

More mutated butterflies floated in Brittany's stomach at Santana's thoughtfulness. "Oh," she manages to sputter, almost close to a squeal. Please, God, don't embarrass me, the blonde prays. "Well, if you need help unpacking, I'll be here," she covers up. For some reasons, sharing the idea of Santana to Sam doesn't quite sit well with Brittany. She still adds, though, "And Sam, too."

Santana's eyes widen by the thought. "No, no, it's fine," she explains, "I only have a few things, really. I'm already settled." Then, as if remembering something so crucial and realizing time doesn't stop for anybody, not even for her and Brittany, she says with a playful grin, "Don't keep your students waiting, Brittany."

"You're the one who's keeping me," the blonde counters.

The playful grin of the brunette turned to a mischievous smirk. "Not if you don't let me," she tells her, taking a step back.

Brittany wants to kiss Santana again, like the other girl did at the bar last night. It's such an odd thing to do for people who barely know each other – leaving a sweet kiss before parting ways. Really. Then again, the lines are blurred with Santana. She doesn't feel they _barely _know each other. If anything, it's the opposite. Or at least for Brittany. She's always so at ease with her she doesn't even know if the things she does are appropriate and doesn't cross the line. She stops herself from kissing her, though. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Santana replies, tugging her cap further to her head. "Take care."

Taking the steps leaving her door and putting more distance between her and Santana, Brittany was more than happy to bear the idea that she's seeing Santana again. In a way, it's like she's coming home to her. _Wait, what? _"Don't miss me too much!" she calls behind her, with a matching wink thrown at the brunette.

Santana was left blushing, dumbfounded, awestruck, all at once.

* * *

"Mike, hey." Brittany greets his Asian friend, who was stretching at the ballet rails at the farther end of the studio, as she sets down her bag at the long desk set out front for registrations. "You know were not dancing yet, right?"

"I know," Mike shakes his head laughingly. "I just needed my head cleared from last night. Woke up with a banging headache. I'm quite lucky Tina made this ginseng tea her mother taught her so I could make it on time. It's magic." Tina is Mike's longtime girlfriend, also an Asian, and she belongs to Brittany's circle of friends.

The blonde shrugs, "Yeah, thanks to Tina. Good thing I didn't drink much." One Santana could already make her head fuzzy even without alcohol.

Brittany walks further in her _own _studio, her body reflecting in every mirror, turning 360 degrees, taking it all in. It's so amazing she gets to start her own business, which is fully linked to her heart. Dancing. "It's really happening, isn't it?" she asks, just to be sure.

"It is, Britt," Mike nods with a smile, assuring his friend that she's not dreaming.

"You know, I don't even care if nobody shows up today. I can use this dance studio until it goes bankrupt and I'd still be happy," she giggles.

"Way to go on supporting one's self," Mike nudges Brittany's shoulder playfully. "People will show up, Brittany. I put on ads in the internet, and we basically instructed our friends like Kurt to refer students. And you know Kurt's a big shot." He raises his eyebrows suggestively, "We're not failing."

Brittany can't help but to grin at his friend's confidence and optimism about all of this. It's really infectious and it gives her the support she needs. "Thank you, Mike. Really."

The Asian dancer just shrugs, as if to say _we're in this together, remember_?

And Brittany was plain grateful for that.

The doors opened and the two people in the dance studio were pulled from the surreal-ness of everything to reality. It's actually materializing.

"Will you be our first student?" Brittany eyes the guy who came in. Apparently, he seems younger than her and Mike, but Brittany can sense his toned body under those shirt and plaid polo. She thinks he's also been dancing. Brittany was hoping to teach beginners, but if experienced students call her for it, she's sure as hell ain't backing down. "Hi, I'm Brittany," she introduces herself.

"Oh, Britt," Mike says as he goes to do a secret bro handshake with the other guy along laughter. "This is the assistant dance teacher I was telling you about."

"Jake _Puckerman_," the guy smiles politely.

* * *

**a/n: **oi, u people who read my fic...THANK YOU *u* xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

Quinn was rounding the tables in the library to collect the scattered books students didn't bother to return. She was firstly fulfilling duties before she hijacks the high school's records for anything related to a person named 'puck.' She's certain she is bound for answers. Otherwise, she's damned.

She hushes the two girls laughing, obviously preteens, at the multimedia section. They shushed immediately. It reminded her of Santana and herself back in the days, seeing the two girls were a brunette and a blonde, also wearing cheerleading uniforms. She recalled the note she saw at her fridge when she woke up and Quinn had to bite her lip to suppress a chuckle. Santana has a thing for affection, this Quinn knows, she just has unusual ways of expressing it. Take for an example that poem she made. It may translate to rudeness, but if you know Santana like Quinn does, she actually means gratefulness and understanding of her sleeping antics. It's actually cute, but Quinn will never tell her that sober. Santana will probably just use it against her and annoy the crap out of her.

Once back at her counter and done restacking the books, a girl with brown hair, blue eyes, and a kind face was waiting for her. Quinn starts politely with a smile, "Hi, what can I help you with?"

The girl returned the smile and hands over a wide, red book. "Hi. I used this book and I just didn't know where to properly place them in the shelves."

"Oh," Quinn takes the book from the girl. "Thank you for bothering. I'll probably set this back myself." The assumedly librarian skims the pages to identify to which rightful shelf it belongs, though she already knew that just by the cover. A drawing on the 46th page caught her interest. Her eyes widened in expectation.

"Great. Thanks." The girl mumbles and turns to leave.

"Hey, wait," Quinn stops her. "What's your name?"

"Marley," the girl eyes the blonde and the book she just returned. She quickly wondered if she's done something wrong. "My name's Marley Rose."

"I'm Lucy Hastings," she introduces herself even if it wasn't essential. "Where did you get this?" Quinn motions for the book she's holding.

"Um," Marley's forehead creases. "I saw my, uh, _friend_ holding it yesterday." By the mention of 'friend,' Marley's cheeks turned rose. "And he left it on one of the seats. I went back for it today so I could see it as well."

Boy crush, Quinn instantly knew. She helped herself to control her eye-roll. Her tone was gentle, not accusing, not wanting to scare Marley off, "By any chance, do you know someone who committed this _vandalism_?" The librarian rested the book atop the counter and pointed on an illustration at the top right corner of the book. It was written with blue ink and it wasn't that huge, but it was noticeable. There was a drawing of a dinosaur's body but its head was of a human with shaved head. And a caption underlies it saying: '_PUCKasaurus = number wah'._

"It's not my _friend_," Marley answers with firmness.

"I'm just asking, Marley. What's his name?" Quinn pushes, containing her eagerness. If that capitalized 'PUCK' isn't a lead to what she's finding, she doesn't know what is.

"Jake," the girl says curtly, but her ears turned pink anyway.

Jake? There's no 'puck' in there, isn't there? "Jake what?"

"Puckerman. Jake Puckerman."

There you go. There's our lead, Quinn thought. She smiled to herself. "Thank you, Marley. That's all. You can go now."

"Look, Miss Hastings, it's not him, okay? He didn't do that vandal." Suddenly, Marley sounds like pleading. Of course this will ruin whatever chance she's got with the guy. And she doesn't want that. "It's probably his brother. From what I heard, he's more of a school-wrecker than Jake is."

"There are _two _Puckermans?" Quinn tried to hide her incredulous expression. Solutions just don't come that easy, do they? They need to be complicated, messy, entangled with other matters, and you have to sort it out yourself. But Quinn isn't complaining. It's what she's here for.

"Yeah, but you can't call him in or something," Marley shrugs. "He's already graduated."

"What's his name?"

"I'm not sure, but people call him Puck."

Now that's more concrete.

Quinn's head was racing. She confirmed there is a person named Puck. Moreover, she also gathered that he graduated from this school and probably doesn't sit well with rules. That tells her something. "Oh, I see," she feigns disinterest, "Alright, Marley, you've been a great help. Any kind of infraction to school properties is strictly prohibited, did you know that?" The other girl just nods dumbly. "I bet you do. It is very important students abide to that regulation. Keep an eye on Jake," she flashed Marley her perfect set of teeth. "See you around, Miss Rose."

"You're not, like, charging Jake, right?" Marley says uncertainly.

"What?" Quinn almost laughs. "No, Marley."

"Okay," the girl nods vigorously. "Bye, Miss Hastings. And thanks, I guess."

The only matter now is to discover Puck's real name, his real identity, and his actual role in the Jessie St. James Maniac Faction. Quinn wanted to do this now, but she's still a librarian at the moment. This shall wait until lunchtime. She lets out a loud 'ssh!' just because she's Lucy Hastings.

* * *

Blaine was talking to Unique, one of the people he recently became friends with while in this High School. They were standing by the lockers while Unique was discussing how coconut oil will be effective to give her the desired boobs she always wanted. Blaine tries to act indifferent, though it's a tough job. He nods when he thinks it's fitting to do so, and he knots his triangle brows to feign interest. Unique doesn't mind, he goes on talking about man boobs and man nipples.

All those aside, Blaine was actually watching the students around them. It's a usual hallway scene. Kids checking something in their lockers, group of girls laughing something about on their phone, a couple so smitten by each other, a misfit looking awkward just by himself, and a lot of other plain high school scenarios. Nothing unusual. Nobody seems high, up with the clouds, and not their normal selves. No sign of what he's looking for.

He turns back his honest attention to Unique, only to see she was now joined by Marley, another friend Blaine made. They were talking about Marley's experience at the library, and the only thing he could do was to catch up.

"Hey, Marley," Blaine tries to butt in. "I didn't see you there."

"Hi, Blaine." Marley's kind face smiles at him. "I was just telling Unique about Miss Hastings, the librarian. I was so close to turning in Jake."

"Girl, Miss Hastings got them perfect brows," Unique says. "I wonder how she maintains it like that. Do you think I should ask her?"

Marley just shrugs.

"Who's Jake?" Blaine inquires, as if to support Marley's main story. Unique must have missed that idea, since she just delved into Quinn's eyebrows.

"Jake Puckerman," Unique reveals with a wave of her hand. "That boy's a womanizer, but Marley's got her eyes ogling for that one. He doesn't notice our girl right here, though. I ain't lying, I'm tellin' ya."

If Blaine had bunny ears, they would have already turned up by the mention of the name. Puckerman is close to 'puck,' isn't it? Is he the one they're looking for? Blaine doesn't want to be that _fervent _to a topic related to a person named Puckerman, as that would come off odd, so he stayed quiet and listened in.

"Shut up, Unique," Marley blushes as she pulls her backpack closer to her. "That isn't what I'm telling you here. Miss Hastings saw a vandal on the book I returned, and she asked if I knew who did that. I said it wasn't Jake for sure, because it isn't his thing to draw on books, right?"

"Yeah, 'cause his thing is to ride on scooters out in the hallways," Unique tells her with an eye-roll.

"Whatever. I told her that it might be Jake's brother. You know, that popular guy with a Mohawk who always sneaks in alcohol during prom nights." Marley adds, because she thinks it's necessary, "But never succeeds. At least that's what I heard."

"Ah, that one, I thought he's already done with school?" Unique clarifies.

"He is, and that's what I said to Miss Hastings. Do you think she won't call in Jake? I'm worried she will and I'll embarrass both of me and him."

"Well, did you ask her?" Blaine finally chooses to speak up.

"I did," Marley bites her lower lip. "She said she won't, though, I can't help but to be worried."

"That blonde chick's cheekbones ain't seem to lie, hun," Unique assures her. "I also heard Jake's got a new job at a dance studio. You wanna go?"

"What, we're enrolling?" Marley seems to consider the idea.

Unique gives her a smile. "U-huh. Why not? You in, Blaine?"

The school bell rings, calling them for their next class and they had to part ways. They agreed they'll talk about it during lunch break, but the idea sounds good. Blaine is still unsure whether he'll join Marley and Unique, but most likely, he will. Because that's him, he's innately jovial and nice. Despite that, however, he knows one thing's for sure: He got himself a lead, and he's taking Quinn and Santana to a dance class.

* * *

Santana was now seated at her couch, laptop on her lap, and freshly made pancakes at her side. The irritated air she was feeling towards Shelby for the unfortunate truck she gave her lessened a little when Santana discovered her fridge was fully stacked. There's even a pack of Twix bar. She forgives her a bit.

The brunette chose to take a shower after that brief interaction with Brittany. It's not like she assumed it would last longer, but Santana would be lying if she told herself she wasn't disappointed when the blonde had to go that soon. But then again, ever since she met the girl, Santana felt that need to seek her, under any circumstance. In conclusion, Santana was still happy to catch up to Brittany before she left. However brief, at least Santana talked to her and she satisfied a little amount of that irrational need of hers. Brittany even winked at her. Jesus, her stomach dropped.

She was checking her mail, and she saw four emails that kind of hold significance. The others were just useless promotional shit. Out of the four, three were from Beth's Advertising Company. As usual, employees were asking for Santana's judgment. She quickly typed '_OK_' to the first, '_Lame but it could pass' _to the second, and _'Do you plan on keeping your job? That's like a mush of poop and beard combined_' to the third. That's just how the Snix Department sails.

The last email was from none other than their annoying, vegetarian, Jew friend, Rachel Berry. She opened her email reluctantly, her brows furrowing in impatience. Berry's words were just flowery. Instead of getting straight to the point, she'd use words Santana thought were obsolete. She puts up with the hobbit, though. Rachel is more than her vocabulary.

_Good day, Santana!_

_The past few days, my work was being domineeringly demanding. Schedules were hectic, and it came to a point I would consider myself propitious if I made my nightly regimen efficiently. That's how rough it was. Thank God it's over! Or at least, for now. Rehearsals were deferred and the show-runner finally resolved for a break. He had family issues or something similar; he was too vague about it. Anyhow, what matters now is the fact that I got myself free from work and I handle my life again. And what better way to spend my break than being with my undercover agent friends, right?! I figured you would, most likely, go against my idea of visiting you guys there. You can't stop me now, though. As you are reading this, I shall inform you I am on my way to CSSA and will be taking the drive and/or flight to wherever you guys are; afterwards I got the information and logistics from Shelby, of course. I'll see you then! Don't worry, Santana, I'll fill you with the details of my life by the moment we are reunited. You must be dying to know. Ha! Kidding, Santana. Take care, and tell Quinn & Blaine for me? Love you three. XO_

_The Greatest Star, Rachel Berry_

Santana groaned loudly. An e-mail and now Berry and her huge mouth coming? Her life is over. Computing the time of travel, and adding unnecessary stopovers Santana knew Rachel would be committing, their Broadway star friend would get here around evening. That's fortunate, Santana thought. At least she could still get work done before the Hobbit bothers them. She quickly notified Quinn and Blaine about the Midget's arrival. Santana tapped a text saying _Rachel Berry is coming _to her co-workers, then proceeded to her laptop to type a very heartfelt reply to Rachel.

_U BIATCH –Santana_

She smirked to herself. If Quinn was here and saw what Santana replied to that awfully long message, she'd scold Santana. Her blonde friend has a much higher tolerance towards Berry compared to hers. And, well, Quinn's not here so Santana hit send. Gratifying.

The familiar sound of a new Skype chat message alerted Santana. She forgot to change her status to 'invisible' and she thinks she deserves an eye-roll for herself.

She opened the app and saw it was from Dani.

There's no turning back then. Santana has to deal with her.

_Hi. Can I call?_

_Yeah_

Unlike with Brittany, Santana doesn't feel conscious around Dani. She's not entirely sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Dani's pretty, Santana knows that. She gave her that sticky feeling under her boob to prove it. But, as always, with Brittany, it's different.

Dani and her started as hookups, given that Santana isn't well with handling feelings and all that. They've been at it for approximately four months now. However, if Santana gets this right, Dani actually wants her. Like, more than sex. The girlfriend-want type. She's asked Santana to numerous dates, to which she all agreed to go. Half-heartedly, that is. Santana is not dumb, or insensitive, to not see Dani's into her _like that_. She sees it in her eyes, her actions, in her everything. Basically, they're dating. If we are going with the rules of the world, Dani and Santana are dating. They're seeing each other and they're sleeping with each other. The only problem is, Santana doesn't see it like that. If their feelings were a seesaw, Dani would be the one touching the ground. Not that Santana's floating, but because Dani's feelings outweighs Santana's – big time. Like she's declared in plentiful times, it's better when feelings aren't involved.

Dani isn't dumb or insensitive, either. Santana knows that Dani notices how she keeps hinting that she's not into her the same way she is. And everytime Santana wants to call them off, or at least to clarify their standing in each other's lives, Dani stirs away the subject from that. Santana doesn't know where's this leading, but she's learned to just go with the flow.

Three minutes after the message, Dani ringed Santana for a video call session. The brunette hit answer.

"Hey," Dani greets Santana. The girl was at her bedroom, her guitar showing in the background. She was wearing a cream white t-shirt, and as usual, her eyeliner was thick. Pretty, as Santana always thought.

She removed Quinn's cap she still bothered to put on after drying her hair. "Hey, Dan," she gave a small smile whilst sifting through her hair. "What are you doing up so early in the morning?" Santana knew the girl isn't usually awake until 12 noon and it's just 9 in the morning.

"I actually dropped off at your place just now," Dani admits coyly. "Only to find out you weren't there."

"Oh, why is that so?" Santana's face turned to a questioning frown. "I mean, yeah, Quinn and I just left our apartment two days ago."

"You know, invite you for breakfast or something," Dani shrugs.

"Yeah, well, don't worry about that," Santana pulls her plate of pancakes at her side and flashed it at the screen. "I already got myself covered."

"Yeah," Dani shows her a weak smile.

"What about you? Have you eaten yet?"

"I'm fine. I drank coffee." She adds, "And yours. The coffee I brought that was supposedly yours, I drank it, too."

"Thanks, I guess," Santana says simply. And that's when it hit her. Despite the internet connection the only thing linking them, Santana felt Dani wasn't in any kind of cheeriness today. "I'm sorry you had to drink my coffee. It wasn't that bad, was it?"

Dani _almost _snaps at her. "Santana, _really_? You're saying sorry for the coffee? This all would not have happened if you were checking in me at the first place."

"What?" Santana matches her sharp tone. "_I_ didn't ask you to go to my apartment, did I? Don't blame it on me you had to cut your _siesta _and drink several amounts of coffee in the morning."

"It's not about that," Dani bites back. "Don't you think I deserve to know your whereabouts?"

"Do you?" Santana retorts. "We didn't tell anyone where we're going; not even Rachel. Tell me what you _deserve_ from me."

"Rachel and I are different," the other brunette insists.

The Latina nods in agreement, "You are."

"Santana, I'm your…we're…" Dani falters, as if searching for _that_ word she isn't sure would fit for her place in Santana's life. She can't say it. Because if she did, Dani's afraid she's going to lose whatever established connection she has with Santana.

"Look, Dani," Santana sighs. "I think we need to talk. I don't think we're on the same page, you know what I'm saying?"

The other girl panics, though she hides it well. Dani knows where this 'talk' is leading. Santana has tried to commence it in a lot of occasions. She just avoids it pretty well. It's like a breakup talk, even if they're not really _that_ together. She does her best to drive away from that topic. Anything but _that_. "I think we're fine," she says with enough conviction to conceal her fear of being hurt. "I'm going now, Santana. I'll call you later."

"What? Dani, wait," Santana says, but she's too late. The other girl already logged off before she knew it. She grunts madly. Nothing new there. She should've seen that coming.

Santana leaned back further to her couch, chomping down the remaining pancakes. She's used to Dani chickening out like that everytime she attempts to clear things out between them. It's getting tiring, really. See, she thinks, that's what feelings do to people. They make them irrational, difficult to understand, unreasonable, and upsetting. If you're going to ask Santana why she doesn't deal with that kind of thing–feelings–those would be her exact answer: it's irrational, difficult to understand, unreasonable, and upsetting.

She as well logged out of Skype and made the status 'invisible' and has no plans of changing it for a long time. That almost-fight with Dani doesn't really bother her than it's _actually_ supposed to, because she's not letting it. Okay, Santana is being unfair, but she knows what (or who) she truly wants. And the sooner Dani stops chickening out, the sooner Santana can admit it's _not _her.

Then, remembering that fake Facebook account she made, she decided to check on it before completely proceeding to a non-computer-related activity.

Surprisingly, Twixie Cutt received 3 friend requests, 1 message, and 2 notifications. Santana didn't bother to check on the friend requests and notifications, they're probably dumbasses, and went straight to the message. Upon seeing the name and the message, Santana's mind raced.

_Puck Zilla: Hey Twixie wanna get high?_

She got herself a lead! Twixie Cutt's a charm. There's really a somebody named 'Puck' and most likely, selling drugs. Santana can't help but to applaud herself, because she thought Twixie Cutt was stupid and there she sees it – Puck Zilla. _Really, _what is he, a dinosaur?Her mind was racing in search for a response to Puck's message. She wants to ask him a lot of questions, probably meet with him and tie him up and torture him. But if she did send a reply asking them to meet, wouldn't that be _too _obvious? No, Santana has to think like she's 18 and is thirsty to be high; not like she's planning to capture him. She finally decides for a response which she thinks is appropriate, glad to know her critical side is still functioning.

_Twixie Cutt: Yes_

While waiting if Puck Zilla will answer her back, Santana clicked on his profile and took a good look at it. He has a lot of friends, mostly high schoolers, but he has no photos, not even a profile picture. Nothing in his account is useful except that his name is 'Puck Zilla' and he joined Facebook just a few months ago.

_Puck Zilla: Awesome. Where's your locker? Tell me, and the drugs will be there in the morning. What do u say?_

Santana purses her lips. She doesn't go to any High School, and she's sure she knows no one from any. There's Blaine, yes, but Santana put on her Facebook account that Twixie and Devon are from different schools. Puck Zilla might sense she's faking it; hence, resulting to completely losing her lead. What does Twixie Cutt reply? Like Dani, Santana mimics her technique of avoiding the elephant in the room.

_Twixie Cutt: How do I pay you?_

It didn't take a minute for Puck Zilla to respond.

_Puck Zilla: Leave your money at the plant pot near the guidance counselor's office._

As an agent, being decisive is a reputed characteristic for them. If they're trapped inside a room with a ticking bomb, they should decide if it's worth detonating, finding alternate ways to escape, or to explode together with the bomb. In a minute or less, your mind should already be made up. Santana knows that, and she just hopes her decision is the right one. It's not practical for her to be a high school student. It's a waste of time and resources. Besides the fact that their team would lose the role of the over-looker, Santana would be separated from her teammates. It's really impractical. Instead, she chose to invent yet another make-up story.

_Twixie Cutt: I actually dropped out of school just recently. Family shit and stuff. Drugs would help me a lot to get thru. Is there any way we could meet up?_

Santana exhales. Is that a believable shit story? She was about to feel angry when Puck Zilla took longer than usual to reply. There's the sign of him typing at the other line, but it keeps disappearing then reappearing again. The more it goes like that, the more Santana thinks she just lost her lead.

_Puck Zilla: Sorry bout that, dude. There will be a party by yours truly and my bros in a week, so maybe we could run the transaction by then? Only thing is, your supply will be delayed. That ok?_

Twixie Cutt and her charm, seriously? Santana inwardly cheers. Puck Zilla bought her act! Not only that, but they're also coming closer to infiltrating this JSJ Maniac Faction. Who knows, Puck Zilla's 'bros' might include Jessie St. James himself?

_Twixie Cutt: Thanks. Great. Tell me where and I'll be there._

_Puck Zilla: I'll keep in touch. And also, that picture of your flower is blooming. I like it ;)_

Of course Puck Zilla needed to say that. Of course. Santana rolls her eyes.

_Twixie Cutt: Yeah, well, dinosaurs scare flowers off._

_Puck Zilla: Oh, do they now? ;)_

Does Puck Zilla usually talk like this to his customers or Twixie Cutt's just downright charming? Santana would surely tell him his game's lame if given another occasion, but she needs to be cautious with whatever acquaintanceship she built with this guy.

_Twixie Cutt: Yes. Bees attract flowers more. Tell me the details bout that party when u can. Bye 4 now!_

And then she logs off, pulls down the lid of her laptop. She's pretty proud of herself for being in contact with the assumedly drug dealer. She's doing her job right, and she doesn't fail her purpose. It's also a good thing they're making progress this fast. She has to check in with Blaine and Quinn a little bit later. Then Shelby a little more later. _Later_.

She wishes to contemplate first. If she assumes correctly, they're near to closing this assignment, thus leaving this town, leaving Brittany. After all that unexpected messages from different people, Santana can still manage to think about Brittany. She barely knows the girl (though everytime they're together, it doesn't feel like that) and they're already separating? That can't be.

Santana needs to set her priorities, get back to square one, and fix her mind clearly.

* * *

**a/n: **Thanks all for the kind words (woop woop xo)! This one's pretty longer than my usual lengths to make up for the obvious no-Brittana interaction. It needs to be done. Haaaa


	8. Chapter 8

Santana took a well-deserved nap to rest her wits. She needed that, given that the day hasn't reached its halftime yet and she has already dealt with important matters, namely: Firstly, Rachel Berry's announcement of visiting them, which bothers Santana. Not only because the Jewish girl is annoying as damn, but also because this trip isn't a _vacation trip_. They are _working _on a very delicate and sensitive assignment, not taking a break from rehearsals. Santana surely hopes that Midget would be useful in due time. Secondly, that almost-fight with Dani. Santana is determined to call them off this time. They're both leading themselves to no good if they go on being whatever they are. Nobody wants that, right? And thirdly, that very stellar lead she got herself. She's going to meet Puck (Zilla) and to infiltrate one of the possible JSJ Maniac Faction parties there are.

Though stressing, Santana thinks it's not a bad start for her day.

It was almost lunchtime when Santana woke up from her nap, and she read a text from Quinn asking her to go to her condo. She replied a short 'ok' then prepares to leave. She grabbed her red hoodie, her iPad, Quinn's black baseball cap (which she now claims hers), and ran the stairs to be united with her unfortunate truck. But she was momentarily delayed when she bumps into an individual, who was apparently locking Brittany's apartment door.

"Whoa, watch it," the individual, who appears to be a guy, reacts and turns to her. "Excuse me, but who are you?"

When Santana takes a good look at him, she instantly remembers him. He's that guy who hugged Brittany on her studio, and _the one _who has that humungous mouth. She can't help but to notice those lips again, because really, what else is there to notice? Okay, maybe there's the fact he's Brittany's friend (or so Santana likes to think they're _just _friends) and she has to get on his good side if she wants to succeed on getting to know Brittany, but screw that. She can't expose her real identity than she already had. She'll deal with Trouty Mouth some other time.

"Kindly get out of my way, please," Santana replies sarcastically as she dares to take a step forward.

Trouty Mouth, however, also takes a counter step, matching that of the girl's, thus blocking the brunette. "I have a tendency to be impolite right now, so let me introduce myself to you as an act of apology," he says.

Santana just glares at him, and crosses her arms grumpily, seeing as she can't really shoo away Trouts out of her way. "Whatever."

"I am Sam. Sam I am. I don't like green eggs and ham."

Ah, right, Sam. Brittany spoke of him once (or twice), Santana recalls. He's that guy she's living with. "Yeah, okay," she nods, acknowledging him. But she's not in the mood for a chit-chat and how-are-you's right now. "I need to get moving now, Trouty. So excuse me." She attempts to take a step again, and just like earlier, she was blocked once more. Frustrated, she drops her crossed arms, resolving to listen whatever Guppy Face has to say.

"I get it you don't want to get acquainted, which is completely fine by me," Sam reasons. "But I just need to know if you're living upstairs? And is that truck yours?" He points to the unfortunate truck parked out front. "I'm actually leaving for a week, by which results to leaving Britt, my very dear friend, alone in our house. I'm like her big brother who's always looking out for her, and it really gets me worried to leave her by herself for seven days. Alone. You feel me? I mean, you really seem harmless by first look, but I have a thought you could be _harmful _when triggered. Just like I'm doing now. I won't leave if I really didn't have to, you know? My parents have this business thing, and I just need to look out for my younger siblings. And Brittany is by herself." Then he adds, "I really talk a lot when I'm anxious, sorry."

An odd sensation of relief washed down Santana as she learned Sam and Brittany are just good friends. The scowl which was firmly etched on her face slightly vanished by the thought of Sam being extremely concerned about Brittany's well-being. "Yes, I live upstairs and that truck is mine," Santana answers his questions prior to his babbling. "I already met Brittany, and I'm sure she won't _trigger _anyone." If Brittany does 'trigger' Santana, it's not in the same sense Sam is pertaining to. See, that cheek kiss and playful winks are _really _triggering, if you get what she means. (Nudge, nudge.) "At least not in the violent way," she explains further.

"You know Britt?" Sam grins at her. "Yeah, that's right. Stop and violence goes hand in hand in Britt's vocabulary. Always so bubbly, that one." Then his grin falls, "But that doesn't change the fact you're a stranger and Brittany's all alone for a week." He face-palms his face, as if annoyed by himself. "I'm really sorry. I'm just so worried."

Stranger my ass, Santana wants to say, but she was too pleased (okay, maybe not _that _pleased, but still) of Sam's protectiveness towards Brittany to be hostile around him. Instead, she just gave him a tightlipped smile and shrugs. "If you think I'm going to hurt Brittany, I'm not. No intentions of something similar."

"Yeah, well," Sam frowns as he studies the brunette, "Thanks, I guess."

Santana now took the chance of getting past Sam, seeing as he was seemingly thinking deep. This time, she successfully went through him. At last. "Bye, Trouty," Santana mumbles mischievously.

Once Santana reached her truck, door already opened, Sam called after her. "Hey, you! Look out for Brittany while I'm gone, will you?"

Did he just entrust Brittany's well-being on her? Did Santana just win his trust and approval? She doesn't want to assume, but she gives herself inner applause. She seems badass enough to get to the good side of Brittany's friend. Hell yes.

"Yeah," she nods and gets into her unfortunate truck. Not without slamming the car door loudly, of course. It's a very dramatic additional accent to the scene, she believes.

* * *

Santana was surprised Blaine will be the one answering the door for her. She never took him as one who would cut classes. She always pictured him, if ever they went to the same High School, as someone who is a suck-up to the teachers and the one who always takes the spotlight. Santana doesn't say that to Blaine, though. They're adults now, in real life, not kids in high school.

"What, you ditching school now, gay Clark Kent?"

"Quinn thinks it's apt for me to be present in this meeting," Blaine responds as he closes the door behind them.

Santana immediately went straight to Quinn's black and leathery couch. She likes it too much to the point her posture was sloth-esque. "I thought this was _lunch_?" she asks, annoyed she was deceived.

"It is, and Blaine's cooking," Quinn answers him as the said cook excuses himself to the kitchen. She sits beside Santana in a manner that their bodies are facing each other. For a three-seater couch, both girls think they could still use some more space.

"You're really being bossy, Quinn," the brunette says casually, as though serious, and takes off her cap and sets it (also the iPad) down at the coffee table. She looks at the blonde gravely, "Blaine was busy cooking us food _yet _you asked him to answer the door. Wow, Q. I always knew you needed control running there in your system, but I never thought it would reach this extent. Just, _wow_."

Without missing a beat, Quinn hits Santana with a pillow. Hard. "Screw you, S. I was on the phone with Shelby, you lazy-bum."

The brunette laughed maniacally as she saw how an expert she is in terms of annoying and getting under Quinn's skin. "Reasons, reasons," she mutters mockingly.

"I _really _was," Quinn insists as she pinches Santana's arm.

"Agh!" Santana pulled Quinn's hair in counter-attack. "You're so abusive!"

The said abusive friend kicks Santana's thigh at the opposite of end of the couch, smirking triumphantly in the process. And just like a fighter with a strong heart, Santana kicks back with the same smirk plastered on her face. They do this for a while until the kicks turned weak and ticklish, grunts and groans turned to laughter (which grows louder by every kick), and until they lost their undercover agent selves in the moment.

"Santana, stop it!" Quinn whines with fits of laughter.

"You stop yourself," Santana replies just the same.

And, just like a mom, Blaine, apron tied up his neck, emerges from the entryway of the kitchen, and shushes the kids with ADHD. "Children, food is ready," he scolds both of the girls with an eye-roll.

"Coming, mom," the girls shouts back in unison, which just makes both of them laugh harder.

Santana helps Quinn up, and the blonde accepts the kind gesture. Quinn then snakes her arm around Santana's waist because she's happy. Santana doesn't retract from the motion because she was feeling happy, too. She reaches for her iPad, and both girls walked side-by-side to their mom. Or Blaine. Right.

* * *

Quinn's kitchen isn't exactly spacey, but with its interior design, it seemed huge enough. The gray-almost-black fridge, where Santana's poem is posted, stands glamorously on the left of the entryway. Beside it was the black kitchen counters with granite countertops, along with the stove and the sink against the wall. It's forming a U-shape layout. The cooking utensils were hanging just below the kitchen cabinets, which are stacked, all thanks to Shelby.

The three agents were seated comfortably on cushioned bar stools at the farther end of the kitchen counters, munching on the Chicken Casserole (and mashed potato) Blaine so skillfully made.

"You cook good, Mom," Quinn notes with a grin.

"Yeah, really," Santana seconds that with a mouthful. Truly lady-like. "And isn't it weird we're the girls and our kitchens are useless?"

The blonde sends her a look, glass of water in hand, "No, not at all."

Santana shrugs and continues to devour her meal.

"Thank you, ladies," Blaine accepts the compliments of his cooking. "I'm open for lessons if you're both up for it," he suggests excitedly.

Both girls pretended they heard nothing.

After some moments of being delighted and sensations of serenity brought about by their food, the agents realized they clustered together today not to laugh their asses off, but to discuss the demise of the JSJ Maniac Faction. Or so that's what they're aiming for.

Blaine has a glass of OJ close to his lips when he decided to speak, "What did Shelby have for you, Quinn?" He had his body leaned towards the counter, lights above him illuminating his eyes and lashes.

Quinn damps a napkin around her, because she's classy like that, before informing her co-agents, "Shelby told me she was in the midst of a heated _discussion _among other secret service agencies out there, and that she can't meet with us this afternoon."

"Oh," Blaine's triangle brows puckered, "What's happening? Is that something that should concern us?"

"No, not necessarily, I think. It sounded like Shelby was shaken for some reasons and all she relied, if not _broadly_, was that we're close to Jessie St. James."

"_Close_?" Santana grimaces. "I don't know about you two, but I'm sure as hell I ain't _touchy-feely_ with that maniac."

"Nor am I," Blaine nods.

"No, not like that," Quinn wets her lips. "I think what Shelby meant is that we are close to JSJ's _main _den. Out of all his extension branches, here is where he lies."

"Wow, we should treat Roz Washington, then," Santana mutters as she inserts her hands into the hoodie's comfy pocket. "For tipping off the main course."

"That's what _I _think Shelby meant, you guys. Like I said, she sounds shaken and maybe her thoughts were unorganized at the time we're talking. In solace, however, Shelby agreed to talk to us tomorrow."

"She moved the meet? Well, I'm not hurrying," Blaine says, satisfied the timing was on their favor.

"I believe what you make up of Shelby's words is accurate, Q," a slow smiled played on the Latina's lips. She received inquisitive looks from her friends and she took this as a sign to go on. "Twixie Cutt is so charming she got herself a lead."

"Twixie Cutt?"

"Oh, right," Quinn says, remembering to inform Santana on the leads she and Blaine got themselves. "We did, too. Got leads, I mean. Earlier today, I learned that 'puck' is apparently a real name. The possessor of the said name graduated from the same school me and Blaine is going to."

Blaine adds in, "He has a brother, Jake, who's also a senior, and Quinn and I think he's the key to meet the drug broker. And I just got the perfect idea how."

Once Santana has linked to the building's wi-fi connection, she passed her iPad to the other two agents for them to read her conversation with Puck Zilla. "Yes, Blaine, _Twixie Cutt_. It's a beautiful name, isn't it? It was inspired by my favorite candy treat, Twix, and also by the hairdo Pixie Cut. Just the right amount of charm. See, I made this fake Facebook account on our first day of work in this town. I made Twixie appear to be a senior high school student _but _from a different, though neighboring, school. The perfect target, right? It was a random chance I took, and _voila. _Puck, the drug broker, came to me and I didn't even have to find him." Santana's smug tone was present all the while, because healthy competition among them three is necessary.

Quinn mumbles as she scrolls down the conversation, "What's with him and dinosaurs?"

Santana ignores her and turns to Blaine. "What's your idea of meeting him?"

The only guy in the room doesn't take his eyes off the iPad but still responds to Santana's question. "Jake is in the same class with me in English and Physical Education, I think. I have the idea of befriending him and getting close to him, to result in revealing his brother's identity. Also, my friends from school told me that he now teaches at a newly opened studio around here, and I'm thinking enrolling us in a dance class there would speed up the process."

All the smugness Santana was feeling a moment ago quickly flew astray by the thought of her _undercover agent _friends being in the same room with Brittany, who appears to know her non-undercover agent self. She's doomed and she felt her mouth going dry. She can already picture it: She'd walk into Brittany's dance class, the blue-eyed blonde greeting her happily, 'Santana! Hi!' and Blaine and Quinn would give her death glares as they both feel dismayed and ashamed of her work ethics. One of them, probably Quinn, would call Shelby and tell her what's happening, and she will lose her job. She is _so _doomed.

"Oh, look, you're already meeting in a week," Blaine says as he read that part of Twixie Cutt and Puck Zilla's conversation. "Now my perfect idea doesn't seem so perfect anymore." He placed down the iPad and gave a sorry smile to the two girls.

"Firstly, I just want to congratulate Santana on this lead," Quinn smiles at the brunette, "It was a smart move, and it's paying off now. Secondly," she turns to Blaine, "I think we should still proceed with your idea."

"Really?"

"What?!"

Just when Santana thought she'll slid past that issue, _she doesn't_. Of course Quinn had to agree on Blaine's plan. Of fucking course. She amends her exaggerated reaction to conceal her true defiance of the idea in enrolling in Brittany's dance class.

"I'll be meeting with Puck in a week, add to that his 'brochachos,'" Santana air-quotes, "being there, who may include Jessie St. James himself, so I really don't see the _quintessence_ of us being enrolled in a dance class."

"What, you scared of dancing?" Quinn mocks her. This bitch.

"I know you'll go gay for my dancing, Fabray," she bites back. "But, really, I don't see the point in being in a dance class. It's a waste of time and effort. I'm already seeing Puck Zilla, so what's there to do?"

"No, I know that," Quinn explains calmly. "But it's like you're a crashing torpedo if we agree on the idea of you meeting him in a flash. It's a fact you and Puck never met prior to the upcoming party. Hell, Puck Zilla doesn't even have a profile photo. Neither does Twixie Cutt. Yes, I see you have a picture of a flower, by which resembles your face in the most imperceptible ways." Santana frowns at her. "What I'm saying here is that we have to be _careful _and strategic, okay? I know how you are, S. When you see him, you might just jump at him and do unlikely. You have rage, you always go to the yelling place, right?"

"If this is about _control_, Q, you go and be Twixie Cutt," Santana offers, admitting she _has _rage. "In that way, we don't have to enroll in that dance class and we'll still capture Puck ZIlla."

Quinn shakes her head, "Santana, it's not about that. Like I said, we have to be careful and strategic. We need to plot ploy, we need to deliberate our decisions, and we need to execute the most intelligent choices as far as we can."

Santana knows this is a losing battle for her. She is truly, impeccably doomed. If Quinn dares to snake her arm around Santana's waist again, she is so gonna break that arm. The blonde's so smart it's annoying. In frustration, she can't help but to lace her tone with sharpness, "And you think being in a dance class is an intelligent choice? Why do we even _need_ to be there? If Blaine wants to be buddies with Puck Zilla two point o, then why can't he go alone?"

"Yes, I think it's an intelligent choice," Quinn answers her firmly. "If we're there, we could both get close to Jake, and later on, to Puck. We, as a team, will excruciate answers from him _slowly _and _tactically_, unlike with the image you have on your head." Then she adds, "Why do you detest this so much? It's just a dance class, Santana."

Because Brittany is going to be there and so are you. But, of course, she doesn't say that. "Not _a _dance class. It's _dance classes_," the Latina rolls her eyes.

"Um, ladies," Blaine reminds the two girls of his presence. They seem to have forgotten him while they're talking. "Puck Zilla sent Twixie Cutt a message just now."

"What does it say?" Quinn inquires.

Blaine didn't read it aloud; instead he just pushed the iPad closer to her.

_Puck Zilla: Hey Twixie. Told u I'll be in touch. Quick, no? The party would be pushed further. No specific date yet._

Santana was the first to react. "Well, shit."

Enrolling in Pierce's Dance Studio really seems to be a considerable choice now. It's not just an option anymore, it's actually happening.

"Do we reply?" Blaine asks both girls.

"Ask why," Quinn commands.

"Be a whiny and needy eighteen-year-old," Santana reminds him.

Blaine did as was told.

_Twixie Cutt: Aww :( Why?_

_Puck Zilla: Think my boss is cooking sumthin up. Just stay close and u'll get ur supplies in no time._

"His boss?" Quinn was dubious. "Is he pertaining to Jessie St. James?"

"Possibly," Blaine says. "Then again, we're still all so clueless."

Something with their leader turned up, as if she's accepting no shit. By the look Quinn is giving them, Santana and Blaine knows she isn't accepting bull. Quinn is in work mode, agent mode, and there's nothing you can do but to accept her orders if you don't want to complicate things. If Quinn wants something, she gets it.

"We are enrolling in that dance class, and we need to get to Jake," Quinn declares resolutely.

The other two agents nod, not given any other option.

Santana bit her tongue before she could whine. She really doesn't know how to handle this upcoming mess she carelessly built before her. She prays an excuse will arrive onto her, and solve _this _problem away.

_Twixie Cutt: Sure thing, thanks._

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent in Quinn's condo minus Blaine. He said he'll go back to school and try to spot Jake and get on with their intentions already. He promised to be back later, for their meeting with Shelby. Quinn didn't want to go back to work for today and she's already thinking about quitting it, given she already got what she needed from that High School. And so, Santana and Quinn were the only ones left. Oddly enough, whatever laugh-y and child-like vibe both girls shared earlier seemed to dissipate now, and Quinn's place was completely quiet. Well, there's the tune and noise of Zombie Tsunami in the background since Santana was playing the app, but nevertheless, the two agents weren't making any sound.

Here's the thing, Santana's mind is completely filled with jigsaws of lame excuses and probable solutions on how to evade the upcoming dance classes, in which, most likely, involves one Brittany Pierce. If this was any other situation, Santana would die to see Brittany dance again. Not only her moves, but have you seen Brittany's get-up earlier? That was too damn hot, Santana thought. Her shoulder was bare and she could see the well-defined collar bones and neck of the blonde and _God_, the things Santana would do to those body parts. (Okay, wrong thoughts.) However, this is _not_ any other situation and she_ is_ so doomed.

Santana weighs out the possibilities and she came up with a few: One, she could tell Quinn and Blaine that she didn't use the name Jennifer Low to introduce herself to one girl, but Santana. Expectedly, they would be pissed for a while, and they'd ask her to fix that mess up. Santana would agree since she is not _that _deeply connected with Brittany yet, so she could still change her identity towards the blonde if she wanted to. She could say she was fooling around, and her name's not Santana, but Jennifer Low. But then again, we all know that's capital B and S. Bullshit. The knotting and tugging feeling welling inside her is always present whenever she lies to Brittany. That night they first met, Santana knew she owed her name to the blonde. And, Jesus, that fluffy and undeniably _good _feeling Brittany brings to her when she smiles – it's heavenly. Just think about the opposite of that when she discovers Santana lied to her. Maybe a broken and sad smile and disappointed eyes? It would be the death of her. She couldn't handle that for sure. And who is she kidding? For whatever odd and magical reasons, Santana surely feels deeply connected to Brittany. You can take away her job, but you can't take away that. It's a fact and Santana has never been sure of a thing. Now thinking about it more, Santana concludes possibility one is out of the list; Two, she could tell Brittany her innermost identity – that she is an undercover agent and she's not in this town for advertising work, but for JSJ Maniac Faction. Mulling over about this possibility, Santana thinks it's too much. It's like she's declaring to Brittany that she's in it for _it_. You know, for the long run. She's giving away a big part of herself and it scares Santana. Not just because of the idea, but also because she's going to bombard the blonde with facts about her life that Santana isn't sure she would like to know about. Moreover, she's going to make Brittany's life difficult. She's going to share the idea of the drug takeover, she's going to ask her to keep secrets from her friends, and whatnot. Seeing all the complications of possibility two, Santana deems it is unlikely; Three, they could enroll in a class wherein Brittany's presence is absent. They are there for Jake, not for Brittany. Sure there's a class Brittany doesn't handle, right? She takes a break, doesn't she? Santana prays she does, because that's her most feasible option now; Four, and other more possibilities, includes her being fake-sick, being needed in Beth's, or having found a new lead to follow. It's all lame, but Santana couldn't rule them out, especially when she's stuck like this. Stuck, and there's really nowhere out.

Once the brunette got bored with zombies and tapping and couldn't carry any more silence (or once she can't think of any more solutions, but her downfall), she tried to make small talk. She asks, "Did you receive my text?"

Just like earlier, both girls were in the living room. The only difference is that Santana completely took over the couch and Quinn was settled to the adjacent cushiony seat.

"Yeah, I did," Quinn answers as she looks up from the magazine she's browsing. "I didn't think you were serious until she told me how _short _and _disgraceful _your reply was to her e-mail. She sent me a screen-capture."

"My reply wasn't short and disgraceful, Rachel Berry is," Santana says wickedly. Then, she points at the material Quinn was holding, "What are you reading?"

"Don't be mean, S," the hazel-eyed blonde scolds her, albeit suppressing a grin. "I'm looking for a vegetarian deli, since, you know, Rachel's coming."

Santana waves her hand off, "Hell _naw_. We are not cooking for that hobbit. If she wants to be with us, _she_ buys us food. Not the other way around. It doesn't work that way."

"As if _we _can cook."

"Oh, I see what you did there."

Quinn's phone buzzed and she reached for it. "Speaking of whom," Quinn mutters upon seeing who was calling. She slides the screen to answer.

"Hello, Rach. We were just talking about you. Yeah, yeah, something like that. Oh, you are? We'll see you then. Yes, Santana's here. Why, do you want to talk to her? That's fine, I'm sure she doesn't want, either. Ha, you bet. Really? Poor thing. Tell me about it."

Santana went on to listen to the one-sided conversation as she received playful looks from Quinn. It was soon over when the other girl stood up and walked around the condo unit as she kept on talking with Rachel. Quinn's giggles resonated in her unit and most of the times, the blonde was the one listening. Because, obviously, Rachel Berry talks _plenteously_.

Shortly thereafter, Santana easily got tired of hearing Quinn's laugh and voice. She picked up the black baseball cap and put it reversely on her head. She stood up and walked towards Quinn's bedroom, as that's where she last saw her went, and peeked her head at the entryway. The blonde quickly turned her gaze at her, sensing her presence.

"I'm leaving," Santana tells Quinn.

The other girl nods. "Okay. I'll see you later. And dress up, S, Rachel's taking us to dinner."

"Whatever," the brunette shrugs and turns to leave. "Pick me up! That midget isn't the only one who can ask demands."

* * *

Santana was driving without destination. Her afternoon was vacantly free and really, she had nothing else to do. Well, she's thinking about calling Dani, but ultimately decided against it. She doesn't want to be pissed than she already is towards the girl, and it's better if they talked with clear heads. Santana was just following the roads, wasting her gas, and nowhere exact in mind. But when she wounds up in front of Pierce's Dance Studio, she can't explain why. Maybe it's because the beautiful blonde is always in her thoughts that she can't help but to lead her actions towards her, or maybe it's because of the nagging feeling inside her to always seek Brittany. Whatever is which, Santana couldn't really tell. She pulls over but doesn't get out of the truck.

Brittany's studio must be busy, Santana thought, seeing as people are constantly coming in and out. More reason why she shouldn't bother her, then. Right. She really wants to see her, though. Santana wonders if Brittany already ate her lunch, or if she already took her break. She wishes she did, she doesn't want getting her exhausted. And, _Jesus Christ_, since when did Santana learn to care about other people?! Horrifying. Santana shook her head, as if that would clear away her _immense_ concern for the blonde.

And as if answering her thoughts, Brittany emerges from the doors with all her divine grace. She still looks the same from this morning – still so perfect. Santana was ready to get out of the truck and approach her, until she saw an Asian guy coming after Brittany. _Oh, reality. _The person she likes has friends who can't know her real name is Santana. and the Asian guy gave Santana the impression that they are close. What, with all that arm-draping and arm-linking. Hell, they are close. (Jealousy? No, duh. How can Santana be allowed to feel that way, dumbass? She can't, clearly.) So when Santana sped off to prepare for their dinner with Berry, you can be sure it's _not _jealousy.

Key word: jealousy.

* * *

It was already past six when Quinn knocked on Santana's apartment door. The blonde was wearing a dark blue dress with white details on it to add accent. She had her golden locks down, ending just below her shoulder.

When the door swung open, the first thing Quinn noticed was legs. Santana's legs. She's wearing a red and white striped long-sleeved blouse tucked in a red high-waist shorts. For the first time, since she took it, Santana dropped the baseball cap off of her outfit. Chic.

"Don't stare," the brunette scolds her playfully.

Quinn scrunches her face in response. "Whatever, let's go. Rachel's already there."

"Well, I'm not going to be late for free food." Santana locks her door behind them as Quinn lead down the stairs. They passed Brittany's apartment and no signs of life can be noticed. The girl must be working hard, Santana thinks.

Out front, there stands Blaine with his black badass Camaro behind him. He's wearing a brown coat with a checkered shirt underneath. (Not to mention the red bowtie, assuming it's already part of his personality. Just like his hair gel.) He pulls his hands from his pants' pocket and opens the car door at the back.

"You look stunning, ladies," Blaine says in greeting, letting them hear what both girls won't say to each other.

"Thank you," Quinn replies in modesty and gets inside the car.

"You're pretty, too, Blaine," Santana grins as she pinches the guy's nose–it's a thing she does, really–then follows Quinn.

The ride was happy, as far as the three agents knew about happiness. There were small chats to fill the silence, though it was also okay otherwise. They didn't touch the topics that concerned Jessie St. James and everything else related, seeing that they're bound to meet with Shelby tomorrow, after the dinner at BreadstiX. The three agents were grateful for Rachel Berry giving them the excuse to dress up and for letting them into a quick break. For tonight, it would be a dinner with friends, they decided.

Despite what Santana saw before tonight, which was Brittany being _too _friendly with a guy, she instilled that she should be in good spirits. It's the most she can give to Berry for the free food and the excuse to dress up. She would take any excuse to use her clothes that aren't particularly, say, lazy.

Earlier, while applying make-up, Santana thought how someone as beautiful and as kind like Brittany would _not _be taken. Of course somebody saw that before she did. She's too late. Santana wouldn't admit it to herself, but she's heartbroken by the fact she lost her shot with someone as precious as Brittany. There's a silver lining to it, however, Santana rationalizes. She thinks it's good there's a concrete barrier between the blonde and her from now on. There's enough reason, an actual one, that she can stop herself from whatever spiraling force she was feeling towards the blonde, and thus focusing on her work and JSJ Maniac Faction.

That's a good thing, right? _Right?_

Santana didn't want to think about it that much so she pushed those thoughts that include Brittany (and her assumedly boyfriend) away. And how could she? All she's hearing now is Rachel's voice and the promised tales of her life when they were apart. For the first time, and probably the last, Santana's _grateful _for Rachel Berry's annoying mouth.

Santana hears Rachel say, who was apparently talking to Blaine, "I was thinking about changing some of my lines. When I believe it doesn't sit well with the character I'm portraying, it's time I incorporate some of Rachel Berry input, no?"

The short Jew was wearing a black top, matched with a rather elegant white skirt that ends above her knee. She seems genuinely happy to be spending the night with the three of her most good friends. She must be, she traveled this far just to be with them.

They were seated in a booth after the hugs and hellos. From left to right, this was their arrangement: Blaine, Santana, Rachel, and Quinn.

"Yeah," Blaine nods with a smile, ever so _enduring and engrossed_ with Rachel's life stories. "That's amazing. I say you should totally do it."

Rachel smiles at him and turns to address the whole table. "So guys, how have you been? I don't mean work, I meant _you_."

Brokenhearted, Santana wanted to say. But, of course, she didn't.

"I'm okay, I guess," Quinn answers first. "I'm still putting up with the Satan."

Not including the Satan, all brunettes on the table laughed.

"Never been better," Santana says coldly. "I'm still annoying Barbie."

Blaine then supplements, "All is well, except the constant catfights of my daughters, that is."

"Mom!" Quinn and Santana whine in unison.

Rachel laughed at the ridiculousness of her undercover agent friends. How these three can manage _real_ work get done is beyond her.

The waitress then turns up at their table to collect their orders and the four friends had never been this delighted.

All the while, the agents and the Broadway star engage in light talks: Reminiscing about the past expeditions they all have went through, the newest single of Lorde, people who are common to them but now seemed forgotten, the latest movie of Andrew Garfield, that one guy Quinn was eyeing but ended up sleeping with Blaine, who's going to stay alive in The Walking Dead, simple things like that. It was enjoyable.

Afterwards, while Santana was munching on her spaghetti with meatballs, Quinn and Rachel were discussing how things for them work in this town. Rachel shrugged it off, saying Shelby wouldn't let her into confidential information, such as their current location, unless preliminary briefing was executed. Rachel said she knew how Quinn was Lucy Hastings, Blaine as Devon Anderson, and Santana as Jennifer Low. She went to the other details and other reminders Shelby gave her.

Santana didn't say much, letting her two co-workers do the talking to the Hobbit. She's afraid she's going to start a loud banter publicly, as that's inevitable between her and Rachel whenever they speak, and that would be mortifying. She can't stand the shorter brunette 90% of the time, but she's making the most out of the remaining 10%, all things considered.

It's not the first time Berry pulled out a stunt like this, visiting them while on assignment. Though Santana doesn't tell it very often, at that time, Rachel was a big help. It was when they were sent to expose the City Mayor as someone who runs an illegal gambling place by night, and apparently a gambling-king, too. With Berry's exceptional voice, she got to distract the Mayor and his patrons while Santana, Quinn, and Blaine hauled his office for legitimate evidences. They would not have found what they were looking for if Rachel didn't sing, seeing as the suspect would have already barged through his office without those delayed three minutes. The agents were just on time, all thanks to Manhands.

Rachel Berry's one kind of a friend, just that Santana doesn't like to admit that to herself all the time.

"So where are you staying?" Blaine questions Rachel.

"Ah, yes. I've come to a decision to make my stay here plain and basic. No cars, no hotel, just sincerity."

"You're so dramatic," Santana speaks with an eye-roll. "Then where? On the streets? That's pretty _plain and basic_." Then she adds, "I want my dessert."

Rachel huffs, also ignores Santana. "I was thinking on living with one of you, and calling you whenever I need a ride – which is unlikely. I want to _diligently_ roam the skirts of this town. It seems fastidious."

Santana doesn't say anything to that since their chocolate cake was served upon her. It's glorious, and she's up for a treat. She's choosing food over Rachel Berry. Note to self: Food over anyone else.

"Well, you can stay at mine," Quinn offers.

"Okay," Blaine agrees. "But, Rach, you have to be my sister in case it calls for it. I may have mentioned to one of my friends that I have one."

"Thank you, Quinn," Rachel smiles earnestly at the blonde. "And, yes, Blaine, you know how I love to be a part of this team whenever there's a chance."

"Awesome," Quinn smiles back. "You guys wanna hole up at my place after this?"

"Nah," Santana turns down the invitation with a mouthful. "Drop me off at my place. But I really enjoyed tonight; not counting Berry, of course."

"Why? Come on, S," Quinn insists. "Prolong the 'normal' life vibe."

"It's okay. With all that food she's eating, Santana must be brokenhearted," Rachel comments with a teasing grin.

Santana slowed her chewing and gave Rachel the most menacing glare she could muster. If she spoke, she's going to lose her temper, which she doesn't want, so she didn't.

"Whoa, okay," Rachel raises her arms defensively, sensing she touched a line. "Maybe Santana had other plans. I fully understand."

Quinn has her brows crossed but doesn't push it, either. "It's just the three of us, then?" She gives Blaine a pointed look.

"Sure," Blaine nods. "I'm working on something, though. I hate to be the first to bring it up since this dinner went so great, but we have to present facts to Shelby by tomorrow. And, you know, I'm always the one who organizes things like that."

The rest of them continued talking but Santana didn't bother listening. She made it this far with good spirits, but Rachel had to make that comment. Of course, she had to. Brokenhearted my ass, she thinks. She'll be over Brittany by tomorrow, she's planning on it _and_ it's going to happen. And which, as we all know, is a complete lie. It's not bad to try, though, right?

Everything went as planned. Blaine was driving them to Quinn's condo, but Santana was to be dropped off at her own place.

It was past 9 when they reached Santana's apartment. She was sitting shotgun, and she unbuckled her seatbelt to turn to everyone. She tells them with a genuine smile, "Good night, assholes." (_Translation: I really had a good time tonight, and sorry I couldn't come at Quinn's since I'm so pissed the girl I like is already taken.)_ Santana knew they understood part of what she's trying to convey when the other people in the car shook their heads laughingly.

They muttered a chorus of happy good nights and see-you-tomorrows and she took this as a sign to go.

When she got out of the car, so did Rachel.

Horrified, Santana reacts, "Oh, no. You _cannot_ stay at my place, Berry."

The shorter brunette smile-frowns at her. "I'm not. I got you this," she gives Santana the brown paper bag from BreadStiX. "I know you didn't like the comment I made about you being brokenhearted, because obviously, I forgot how you always claim to be heartless."

In any other time, that statement was not supposed to sting. But now it did, for some reasons.

Santana was staring at the paper bag. "What's that?"

"My kind of apology," Rachel tells her. "I picked what first caught my eye on the menu, which is Spring Chicken, and ordered it for you. There's also the chocolate cake from earlier. You really seem to enjoy it."

"You apologize ugly, but I'm not saying no to that." She grabs the paper bag.

Hesitantly, Rachel walks in for a hug. "Good night, S. I'm glad I'm here. Are you?"

Santana hugged back seeing that it was the appropriate to do. "Can't decide for the answer yet," she tells her honestly.

Rachel pulls away with a kind smile, walked towards the car, as Santana walked the opposite direction.

Except the reminder she's heartless, it really was a good night.

* * *

**a/n: **Please stay patient with this fic...*w* AND THANK YOU ALL wazaaa! I never really thought SOMEONE would read this, let alone leave reviews etc etc. IT'S REALLY A MILESTONE to have readers haha so THANKS again! Ok I'll leave you guys alone now bye


	9. Chapter 9

**a/n: **BRITTANA FINALLY! No more Brittana-less chapters from now on, I swear.

Also, you guys know Rihanna's song 'Cake, Cake, Cake'? Yeah, me too.

I just want to address the Guest who reviewed the last chapter and said he/she was offended by the way I kept mentioning 'Jew' as if it's a bad thing. I'm sorry you had to feel that way but I never meant to offend you. I only mentioned Jew/Jewish twice when I reread it, and I never meant for it to be a 'bad thing.' I completely understand if you don't like the way I write. So yeah, chapter 8 stays as is and I hope you'll see this note. Thank you, Guest.

*NOTE OVER*

* * *

And as if fate knew better, there Santana sees Brittany unlocking her door. The stars aligning in whatever pattern they had to just so Santana would reach her apartment the same time Brittany was outside of hers. Great, so great.

Inevitably, Santana greets her. A simple greeting wouldn't hurt, right? "Hey."

When the blonde turns to look at her, her cheeks are flushed but she still had a toothy grin plastered on her face. "Santana, hi."

"You just got home now? I didn't know you work twelve hours a day." Yes, conceal don't feel is the strategy. Casual, casual, casual.

"Oh, no," Brittany shakes her head. "I was done by around 5, and my friend just asked me to spend dinner at their place and wouldn't take no for an answer. Kind of like a first day celebration thing."

"I see today went well?" The brunette gave her a small, though true, smile.

"Yeah," Brittany nods slowly. "I guess it did. So what about you?"

Santana tilts her head, "What about me?"

"You're dressed up. You look nice, by the way."

Conceal, don't feel, Santana chants in her head like a mantra. Don't react to the compliment, yes. Don't. "Um, my friend just took us out for dinner at BreadStiX. That's all."

"Their Spaghetti with meatballs is to die for," Brittany says.

Ugh, why did you have to be taken? Santana groans inwardly. "That's what I ate," she mumbles almost inaudibly.

There was a smile on Brittany's face, but she had one of her brows raised as if to convey 'really?' She didn't say anything, though. She just fumbled for her keys.

"So," Santana says, at the same time Brittany finally unlocked her door and swinging it open. She momentarily remembers how Brittany has no one with her for the rest of the week, and how Sam asked her to look out for her. She agreed to that. (Well, shit.) Santana was having thoughts about the Asian guy she saw Brittany with earlier. He's the one who should be looking out for the blonde, not her. She wanted to scoff at Sam.

"Do you want to come inside?" Brittany blurted out innocently.

"Uh, I don't want to delay your rest. I'm sure it's been a long day." Duh, Brittany's only being polite, Santana thinks. Brittany just doesn't want to be rude so she asks her to stay, not because she _truly _wants Santana to stay. Duh.

"No, you won't," Brittany says. "I'm still making hot chocolate and probably just bore myself to sleep anyway."

There was a four-second pause of heavy deliberation.

"Okay, I'll just change."

"Sure, just come in when you're done. I must be taking a shower."

"Okay," Santana says again.

If only that bubbling excitement in the pit of her stomach would stop. She was about to go upstairs when she stopped herself and saw the blonde was watching her, leaning by the doorframe. She gives her a 'what?' look, then asks, "Do you like chocolate cake?"

"Huh?" Brittany shakes her head, as though she was escaping a spell.

"Cho-co-late-cake," Santana drags every word slowly and playfully, like talking to a child who was just about to learn to speak. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yeah," Brittany nods quickly, at the same time as her ears turned pink. "Yes, that would be great."

Was Brittany checking out her legs? She was, wasn't she? Santana wanted to squeal like a girl from middle school when the person she likes notices her. She never wanted attention from anyone like she does right now. Wow.

"Awesome."

* * *

Santana, with the BreadStiX bag at one hand, was standing inside Brittany's apartment, the door behind her. She was just standing, unmoving, albeit fiddling with her phone inside her pocket. Why is there a sudden turn of air? All she felt a while ago was fluffiness, and now nerves were eating her. She didn't want to touch anything, though she's dying to take over the couch. (She really has a thing for couches.) She already called out to Brittany, but no response came back. She may not be heard, seeing as the blonde's apartment is pretty spacious compared to that of hers. It had same layouts, though.

She was taking it all in – she's stepped foot on Brittany's home.

Before arriving here, Santana tried so hard to calm the giddy inside her while washing her face. Because, if you think about it – it's like a slumber party, even if they don't live so far away, and yet it's still thrilling. And that doesn't end with that. She's going to be with Brittany. Alone. Everything fits. Though nothing is ultimately determined, she assumes the girl is already taken. That's what she saw. But right now? Santana can't seem to care.

Usually, when Santana sleeps, she wears something close to almost nothing. But she's not sleeping at Brittany's, is she? They're just there for a _friendly _night hang out. That's exactly what this is. Santana doesn't have to over-think how she's going to look and whatever. Finally, she suited herself in sweats and a loose tank top, and she left her dark locks as is.

Santana was momentarily reminded of the idea Brittany checking out her legs while she pulled out the Spring Chicken, which will probably maintain her fed for days, from Berry to keep in the fridge and to bring the chocolate cake downstairs.

She took the steps of the stairs slowly and agonizingly, contradicting her true motives. The brunette thinks it would be embarrassing if she was caught running down the stairs, as if there is a thief who ransacked her apartment.

There isn't, and as soon as she reached Brittany's door, the giddy turned to nerves. How odd.

Right now, as Brittany's presence was still lacking, Santana thought of things that she would like to talk to about her. They met not long ago, and it's clear they don't know each other very well. That didn't strike the brunette at firsthand, since her goal was to always seek Brittany. Seek as in find and see the blonde. But now, when an opportunity of spending time with the girl came up, the definition of seeking Brittany expands.

Santana recalls the first time they met and how amazing it was. She doesn't really talk to strangers, or people, in general, but when she talked to Brittany – it was _different_. Noticeably, she was left wanting more. And more. She also recalls the cheek kisses. It happened, not once, but twice. She likes it too much than all the kisses she's ever had. Inescapably, Santana's memory also graced how terrible it felt lying to Brittany. Sure, she could tell herself a million times she isn't _exactly _lying, but it's still clear she isn't exactly telling the truth, either. A lie is a lie, no matter how big or small it is. She prays none of those would occur tonight. She needs to keep it subjective.

Thuds on the wooden floor stopped Santana's train of thought, and there she sees the girl she's been thinking about all day. Brittany, Brittany, Brittany.

"What are you doing there standing? Go seat, Santana. The couch is clean, it doesn't have bugs. Trust me." Brittany's cheeks turned up.

Is Santana still heartless even if she hears the loud and rapid beating of it against her own ears?

All thanks goes to Brittany's appearance and godly atmosphere.

She really looks kissable right now was Santana's immediate thought. What, with that duck-printed pajamas and tight pink tank top? Totally kissable…and cuddly. Whoa, whoa, since when did one Santana Lopez thought about cuddling? (Now, Bozo.) This is going too far and out of hand.

"Hi," Santana says, almost whispering.

"Hi," Brittany says back, matching the tone and smile of the other girl.

"Um, I got you my cake."

"_Your _cake?" Brittany bites her lower lip playfully.

Santana half scoffs and half laughs, realizing how did that sounded off. Ha, she's giving _her _cake to Brittany. Good starter. Nice one! Where's the Santana Lopez game? Should she start to flirt or should she not? Santana didn't have the heart to treat Brittany the way she would normally treat any other girl because she _is_ Brittany. Santana doesn't flirt and stays wordless to that.

"I will not force you to sit," Brittany says as she receives the paper bag from the brunette. "But I will make our hot chocolate, and guests shall not be bothered."

"Don't take too long," said Santana, and she has no idea why she just did. It sounds pretty clingy. Or demanding. She wants to puke. It's _not _Santana to be clingy or to be demanding towards another person. (Then again, this isn't _just _another person – this is Brittany we're talking about here.) She does nothing to amend the statement.

The blue-eyed blonde may have or may have not blushed, but she still says, "Okay."

Santana watched as Brittany went to her kitchen and she just needed to exhale because that girl is surely taking her breath away.

She finally decided to take a seat on the white couch that was definitely inviting her since she stepped foot on Brittany's apartment. Maybe she's biased, but it's like her ass was made to sit on this. She took the space closest to the armrest, with the lampshade beside it. She notices the picture frame displayed next to it and examines the image. It was a photo of a happy Brittany at another house and what she presumes were Brittany's friends. She immediately distinguishes Kurt and Sam's face among the group, and the Asian guy Santana saw Brittany was with earlier. There were other people, all of which Santana obviously does not recognize. The Asian guy was posing rather _sweetly _and touchy beside another Asian girl and it made Santana question her assumptions. She can never be really sure of anything unless she directly asks Brittany.

"San," Brittany draws Santana back to reality. That's a pretty sweet nickname.

She sees her standing with two mugs in hand, staring expectantly at her. "Hm?"

"Was I too long?" The blonde asks her cutely. "Just get these," she hands her the mugs, "I'll just prepare _your _cake. Careful, it's hot."

Santana smirks at her, "Which? The mugs or _my _cake?"

Okay, when Quinn, Blaine, and Berry roll their eyes at Santana, most especially with the two girls, it annoys the crap out of the brunette. But when Brittany does roll her eyes at her, she can't help the heat creep up her face because it was too damn adorable. Santana never knew eye-rolling could be very endearing.

Brittany mumbles a quick 'you know what is' then gets back to the kitchen.

The blonde didn't take long, Santana realizes, seeing as she already walks back with a plate of the promised cake and two forks, all of which were set down. She plops down next to her, leaving a liberty to personal space. Their distance was close, though, if we're defining it by friendly means.

"Do you want to watch TV?" Brittany asks casually, finally settled. She reaches for the mug of hot chocolate that was placed on the stumpy table in front of them. Satisfied, she wraps her fingers around the mug and takes a first sip.

"Um, I don't know," Santana answers, mirroring the action of the blonde. "Do you? It's okay to do whatever you like, really. I don't mind, you don't need to ask me."

"You're my guest," Brittany tells her matter-of-factly.

"I am, and this drink is awesome. Thank you," Santana says, hoping it came off charming.

"Well, yeah," Brittany shrugs the comment off fake-smugly. Then, "Normally, if I didn't have a guest, and tonight was a typical night, I'd probably turn on the TV and watch cartoons. But you're here and it's not a typical night, so I think no, I don't want to watch the TV."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, 'cause I got the whole apartment to myself for a week starting today."

Santana recalls again her encounter with Sam and how he asked for her to look out for their common _friend_. She's doing exactly that, right? Spending the night with her, defending her in case an intruder draws in, something like that. That's the plan. "I met Sam earlier today," Santana informs her. "He told me that, and also some other things. He seems really concerned about you."

"You did?" Brittany seemed surprised. "He never mentioned you. He stopped by at the studio before he left, and I never heard him say 'Santana' even once."

It's because I never really told him and I didn't want him to know me, Santana's inner voice answered immediately. They're just starting to talk, and Santana has to withhold facts this early. Annoying. "His brain might be worked up from all the worrying he's doing," she says instead.

"Sam is more worried about me than I care to worry about myself sometimes," Brittany admits to Santana. "Yesterday, before sleep, he kept asking me if I'll be fine by myself, or if I can manage, or if the food's enough to last a week. I said of course I can, because I do and it's not like I'm a toddler or something. And he just doesn't stop at that. Yeah, he's really sweet like that but I can go on for the other things he reminded me about, like 'call 911' if ever you feel unsafe,' and I don't want to talk about those."

Now, why would Sam _extremely _get worried about Brittany? The girl looks fine, both in the literal and figurative way, so Santana doesn't see the part where Brittany can't handle herself alone? The feeling of anxiousness Sam feels about leaving Brittany alone must have rooted from something, Santana concludes.

She smiles at the blonde, "I don't want to, either." She wants to get to know Brittany herself, not Sam, or any other of her friends. (Well, okay, that Asian guy piques Santana's interest a bit. Or a lot.) "If you don't want to watch TV, or talk about _those_, what do you want to do, then?"

"Eat your cake," Brittany says plainly and innocently.

You could eat my cake any day, all day, Santana almost said. She doesn't want to get flushed, but she still does. Clearly, Brittany actually meant _the _cake, not _her _cake, but that's how Santana took it. How can you not if an image of a helluva fine blonde is going down on you is running on your mind? Take a moment to imagine that Brittany's going down on you. Can you not get flushed? That's right, you can't.

Cake jokes can't get old.

"I'm just messing with you," Brittany giggles. "You're cute when you go like that."

"Like what?"

"You know, wide eyes, face flushed, mouth slightly agape. Oh-so-adorable. I saw that reaction when I kissed your cheek on my opening day. And I'm seeing it again."

Santana licks her lips and closes her mouth, feeling self-conscious more than ever. The idea of Brittany going down on her completely erased. She tried to act all tough and hard for once with this girl. "Ha, very funny," she scoffs. "It's not like I haven't seen it with you before."

"At least I'm not denying it," Brittany speaks with a mouthful of cake, the playful grin never leaving her face.

Santana sets down her mug of hot chocolate, crosses her legs, and squints her eyes at Brittany. Really, it's all she can do with the tough and hard façade, since she can't think of something to say to that.

Her actions only made Brittany smile wider and brighter. "It's a good thing, San. Don't get fuming just because I let you know a _good thing _about yourself," Brittany tells her, seemingly amused by this interaction.

She had Santana at San. They're quits for now. She still didn't speak, though.

"And to answer your question earlier, I think what I want to do is to just enjoy the company of you."

"You mean make fun of me," Santana huffs, "Anything for _my highness_."

"Why, thank you." Brittany laughs.

Santana wanted so bad to keep her failing scowl on her face, but she can't help but to also laugh along with the other girl. Her mirth is so infectious and the tune of it is like sweet melody to Santana's ear. And Santana experiences another one of those sappy and gross clichés you will go through with the person you like. Santana didn't actually mind.

"What was that even for? The kiss, I mean," Santana inquires, remembering how light of a touch can make her feel.

"A thank-you-kiss, I guess. For assuring me I would make it through and stopping by."

"You guess? You don't exactly know why you did it, either?"

"I do," Brittany says coyly, "It's a thank-you-kiss and an at-least-I-get-to-kiss-you-in-case-you-never-showed-up-to-me-again kiss at once."

"Oh" was all Santana could say.

"Yeah, that's why the latter is better unsaid. It's embarrassing."

Santana thoughtfully smiles at her. This girl right in front of her is happiness. She never knew someone could make her _feel _a lot of things at once. If only Santana gets to keep Brittany.

"San, I," Brittany falters. "I really want to get to know you."

"So do I," the brunette declares determinedly. She also prays at the same time Brittany wouldn't ask a paranoid question like 'what is your real identity' or something similar.

"Really?"

Santana looks at her dubiously in response. Why would anyone _not _want to get to know Brittany Pierce?!

"Twenty questions, then," Brittany says happily. "Go."

Are you seeing anyone? Santana wanted to ask. Obviously that would be _too_ weird and prying, so she should wait until her tenth question or whatever. Santana racked her brain for anything that would sound _normal _and not obsessed. All she has in mind are something like 'will you be willing to put up with me even if I have a false identity? Because I really like you' or 'does your heart also take speed when I laugh or when you catch a glimpse of me? I think it's really weird, but mine does.' See, Santana's questions aren't ideal. They're crazy.

Finally, she settles for "Where's your cat? Lord Tubbington, right?"

"Yes. Last time I saw him, he was in my room. I would want you to meet him but maybe he's making out with another cat by now," Brittany answers as she eased herself more comfortably onto the couch. "What's your last name?"

"Lopez," Santana reveals, not even worrying about her true identity. "How tall do you stand?"

"Taller than you, for sure," Brittany answers playfully. "I stand five-eight."

Santana scoffs. "I'm five-four."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Red, I think. Yours?"

"Blue."

It just might be Santana's new favorite color. Those eyes, really.

"Why do you not like people?"

"I already told you why. Either I annoy them or they annoy me. You're wasting your turns."

"But _why_? You can't know until you talk to them, right? The night we met, I sensed you didn't want to talk to me. But for some reasons, and to my satisfaction, you did. And I just don't get it why you dislike people at first look."

"I can't like people all the same," Santana says. The look she gets from Brittany screams _unsatisfied _so she willed herself to dig the real answer within her. "Maybe it's because of my upbringing. It took me until kindergarten to know my name isn't 'garbage-face.' My grandmother raised me to be tough and pretty badass. Whatever. That night I met you, I just knew there was just _something_ about you, okay? Don't get all so smug about your exceptionality."

Well, Santana was not expecting twenty questions would mean opening up.

"Your grandmother called you garbage-face? That must have been awful."

"No, not really," Santana answers quickly. "I mean, yeah, it _sucked. _But I look up to my abuela. If she hadn't treated me like that, I would've never withstood other people. This place we live in can be so cruel, and sometimes all we got to be is a lot more crueler."

"So I take it you guys are in the best of states?"

"Used to be." And Santana didn't really explain. She proceeds to her second question, "Why does Sam extremely worry about you? I think it's odd."

There was a pause from Brittany, and Santana thought she wouldn't answer her question anymore. But she does.

"Because he's like my big brother and he thinks it's his role in life to take care of me. And that responsibility he feels must have originated from my fallback last year."

"What happened?"

"I was lonely. But my therapist likes to refer to it as 'falling into state of depression.'"

Okay, Brittany and lonely just doesn't seem to fit. It's like saying oil can be diluted with water. It can't. Hearing this, Santana was captivated by the blonde more than she already is.

The blonde goes on to talk. Her tone wasn't morbid, she was just explaining. "I slept and then I just woke up feeling empty, you know? Useless, helpless, like that. My therapist said it was a combination of different forces and factors, and it's not a one time thing like you've been hit by a car and everything is numb at once. It's more of like a snowball rolling down a cliff, until it got too big and it hit me. I guess I kept ignoring the 'snowball' even though I knew it was continuously rolling down to me, so I can believe it _didn't _really exist. The forces she said, we talked about them a lot in our sessions."

"And Sam was one of the factors?"

"Yes, but not exactly. Generally, my friends were one of the factors. He just felt that he could've seen it coming, and that he could have done more at that time. He was not the one who brought me to Miss Pillsbury, my therapist, but another friend. I think he believes it was supposed to be him, and he just felt–or _feels_–he wasn't good enough of a friend. He is, though. Even before."

Santana would like to feel she was overwhelmed by all the things she's hearing from Brittany, but she's not. She is only left with more desire to seek Brittany. She wants to _know _her.

"So your nickname was garbage-face, huh? What else is there?" Brittany attempts to bring back the light air that was there earlier. She wanted to slap her face for bringing up her sad life sob-stories.

"According to my abuela, yes; but 'San' beats it." Santana winks at her just because she can. "There's also my other A.K.A.s such as Satan, Snix, and Auntie Tana."

"Your friends call you Satan?" Brittany was surprised someone as good as Santana would be put beside a name like Satan. Who nowadays opens their car for a stranger and tells them to watch their heads while getting in? Santana does, and Brittany is pretty confident Satan doesn't.

"It's okay, Britt," Santana says, now also declaring a nickname for the other girl. "I don't mean my other alias, but you telling me about yourself. I don't like telling people my childhood, seeing as it wasn't exactly _pleasant_, or just things about me in general. In fact, you're the first person I told you that. But I want you to know it _is_ okay to tell me things as long as you want to. I can handle it."

The blonde wanted to hug (and also kiss) Santana for her sincerity and the tenderness she's showing her. It took her everything to control herself. She smiled gratefully to the beautiful brunette.

"But, yeah, they call me Satan. You're just seeing _this _side of me, Brittany. I'm not exactly the nicest person out there and I could be harsh when I wanted to be. My friend, Qui-" she bites her tongue, "My friend, _Lucy_, even suggested I should try attend an anger management class or something."

"You may not be _exactly _nice like you're claiming to be, but I don't think you're a bad person, Santana."

In moments like these are the moments Santana must already be getting away and running off. It's dangerous territory for her. It's like one move she commits, it's going to involve feelings. By which, as we all know, is her biggest fear. Santana fights the urge to run away. For the first time, she sees someone as _good_ as Brittany and it's more than enough of a reason to try.

But she needs one thing off of her chest.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

Brittany flushes, shamed. "Like a therapist? Not in the past weeks, no."

"What? No! No, I didn't mean it like that. I meant dating. Are you, like, seeing _someone_?"

And that only made Brittany blushed harder. Why is she asking? "No. I'm not seeing anyone like that."

"Not even at the _slightest_ definition of 'dating'?"

"No."

Santana never knew she could be this elated hearing somebody say 'no.' She was wearing a pretty dopey grin, she's sure, and she doesn't wipe it off of her face.

Comfortable silence hovered above the two girls. They went on sipping the drinks Brittany made and munching on Santana's cake.

"Are you?" Brittany says after a while, the pink on her cheeks still present. Her body is now occupying half of their couch, putting more distance between her and the brunette – as if that would hide her blushing.

Santana looks at Brittany for elaboration. She's not really following since her brain is working up on ways how to make one Brittany Pierce like her back, plus the constant grey cloud of her identities in this town. She must be pretty creative and careful if she wants to achieve her goal.

"Dating anyone, I mean."

"No," Santana answers without thinking, as though asked what her name is. Then she remembers Dani. Oh, well, if she is _seriously _into this blonde, might as well get on with the Dani shenanigan, right? She corrects herself promptly, "Actually, Britt, I think I am."

"_You think_?" Brittany's feelings right now can be compared to an unsatisfied craving. You know when you're thinking about ice cream all day and you want it immediately as soon as you get home – but only to find out the nearest convenience store is closed, and the next closest source of the heavenly _ice cream_ would be an hour away? Yes, something like that. It's frustrating and disappointing.

Santana didn't expect at all she would be mentioning her grandmother at present, because she was planning on doing it never. Not in the near future, not in the far future, not ever. But she did. And now she's going to be discussing hers and Dani's history to the other girl. It's probably because Santana has never been so at ease with anyone, and that Brittany is someone you can easily talk to. Not that she doesn't trust Quinn, Rachel, or Blaine with those matters, but Santana just doesn't want to talk about it. Add to that is Quinn's teasing looks whenever Santana tries to open up about Dani.

Santana is not a particularly patient person, so eventually, she stopped trying.

But with Brittany? Santana gets the impression she does want to talk about it.

Santana runs a hand through her hair for preliminary measures. She surely caught that deflated reaction from the blonde. "I'm telling you this because I think it would _potentially _matter sometime soon," she slightly hints Brittany about her plans on persuading her, also more like a 'not to worry' consolation. "And also because I think I could use the opinion. As a part of our Getting-To-Know Project: Twenty Questions, I can say I am not keen with opening up about…me. Like earlier, I haven't really talked about this with anyone."

"San, are you nervous?"

"I'm not," the brunette insists, though if there's one thing that could be used to describe her right now – nervous would be one of them. Partly because she's never done it before, partly because she's gauging Brittany's reaction when she gets to unfold more of Santana.

"Carry on, then," Brittany gives her an encouraging smile.

"Okay," Santana swallows, another preliminary measure. "So, Dani and I. We met in a club, four months ago. We were totally eye-sexing each other before I had the confidence to actually hit on her. She gave me _that_ feeling under my boob, so I know she's going to be worth my time."

"Hold up, what feeling?"

"Oh, it's this panicky, sweating feeling under my boob," Santana tells her shamelessly. "I feel it when I find someone attractive."

Brittany was looking at her and her mouth twitched up. "Go on," was all she said.

"Yeah, so to cut it short, we hooked up. I thought it was going to be a one-time thing, because that's what I really wanted in the first place, but she asked for my number. Getting my mack on with Dani was amazing to say the least, so I thought giving away my number wasn't a bad idea. Who am I to deny pleasure, right? As days passed, we were constantly texting, in many kind of ways, if you get what I mean." Santana paused to wink at Brittany, since she thinks it's necessary. The other girl just nodded with an expectant expression. "Things escalated through time. Texting became calling. Calling became invites for hanging out _and stuff_. Hanging out and stuff became customary. Until it came to the point she asked me out on a date. Like, a date-date."

"I take it you said yes?"

"I guess I did. But, Britt, how can you say no when you were asked in ambush? I was lazily lounging in our apartment that day with my bitch friend, I remember, and then Dani shows up with a bouquet of flowers and asks me to dress up. She had this _really _hopeful look on her face, and I know she'd be looking like a sad puppy for a long while if I said no."

"You could have still said no," Brittany tells her assertively. "But you didn't. And how did the first date go?"

"She told me really sweet things, by which all I had in response was 'thanks.' I never saw her the way she saw, or sees, me. Do you get me here, Britt? I know she's pretty, funny, cool, good in bed, and all that shit – but we're just not on the same page. She wants more. I don't."

"Why would it last if you're not into her like that?"

"Because whenever I try to clear the air between us, she never lets me. Or she never hears me out. Whatever suffices. She has this evading tactic to ignore the elephant in the room."

"How would an elephant fit in a room?"

That caused Santana to look at Brittany with knitted brows. What she said was a figure of speech. However, Brittany's question sounded like it was drop-dead legit, and the blonde's expression of being serious is really confusing. The other girl was intently staring back. Santana doesn't know what to say. In a flash, she caught Brittany's lips twitch ever so slightly and maybe that twinkle in her blues is humor. Santana must be really obsessed and perverted if she notices these, but you need to look closely in order to see those. She took the slight lip-twitching as a sign of joking and what must be sarcasm. Figuring out the little things about Brittany felt satisfying.

There's a lot left for Santana to discover about Brittany, and she's sure twenty questions will not be enough.

"Camouflage," Santana smiles sweetly at her.

And Brittany was relieved Santana caught up with her humor. Normally, people would explain metaphors to her, thinking she didn't understand. But she did, and if you can bend words like how you do with figures of speech – why can't she? Santana wins more of her.

"I truly want to call us off now, though," Santana gets back at the present issue, oblivious to the matter she just strengthened her rapport with the blonde. "I think we're heading to no good."

"Your mind's really made up?"

"Yeah, I mean, I already gave it a try. Me and her as _something else_, I mean. I think that was my part, and I've done it. Dani's a catch, and I'm not blind to not see that. The only thing is that it just won't work for me."

Like a wise man (or woman), Brittany says, "It's because you're scared."

That was not the opinion Santana wanted to hear. She was expecting something like 'yeah I think you're making the right decision' or 'give it one more try.' But no, Brittany's words hit her deep like a bitch. It's true. She doesn't want to deal with feelings and attachment so she only stayed for sex. She completely read her with that story, and now Santana feels vulnerable. She fights again the bubbling urge to run away from this dangerous territory. She wants this, she kept telling herself.

"Scared how?" Santana asks, playing dumb.

"You know how," Brittany says it again like the easiest thing to do was to read one Santana Lopez. "You don't want to get hurt."

All that can Santana do was to grunt and bury her face in her hands.

"I get it human beings are pleasure-seekers. It's innate for everyone else that is considered human. Sometimes pain comes prior to pleasure, and some people don't mind that. Some do. Maybe you're on the latter. But you have to know, San, greater things don't come easy."

"It's not my fault I'm incapable of handling emotions," Santana mumbles helplessly.

"That's not true. Aside from being rational, another thing that separates us from the other animal race is that we are emotional. You're just scared, San."

"Fuck feelings," said Santana. What else could you really say when the other half of the conversation is a genius? "They make you a dimwit."

"They don't. Well, okay, sometimes they do. Santana," Brittany shakes the brunette's wrist to will her to show her face. "Please don't hide."

The brunette ignores Brittany, so the blonde tries again. She ran her forefinger through Santana's tan arm. "San-ta-na," she sing-songs. "I have to tell you something important. But only if you don't hide your face."

Santana obliges reluctantly. "What?"

"You're missing on a lot of things."

"Why?"

"Because with feelings, it's better."

A zap of electricity ran through Santana's brain. Better with feelings? That contradicts everything Santana stood for in all of her life.

Mayday, mayday! Santana should take off. This is seriously treacherous territory she's stepped on. It's like a risky landmine. Everywhere she steps, she blows up. Her heart beats faster, her breath hitches, her ears feel hot, and her mind goes on a maze. And just, Brittany starts a riot in her.

Santana felt like exploding.

Brittany boops her nose, like she did the night they first met, and smiles admiringly at her.

"How do you know?" Santana asks, breathless.

"I know because I know," the admiring smile never leaving the blonde's face.

"No, no," Santana shakes her head forcefully. "If you involve yourself with feelings, it's like giving bits of yourself to someone else. Do you understand that? It's like giving away your favorite cookies from your _only _and most importantcookie jar without any charges." She was urgent to prove her point to the extent she had exaggerated hand motions to emphasize what she means while speaking.

"And I know how carefully pieced those cookies can be made," Brittany says. "But the thing is, _something _ignites that reaction, that exchange – the giving away of your favorite cookies to someone else incident. There would be a thing or a series of things that would tell you that someone is _worthy _of your holy cookies."

Santana hated to be wrong. She hated the fact that her life principle is told otherwise. Less feelings, less problems. Without feelings, it's simpler. That's it. Why does Brittany have to continuously imply that _with feelings, it's better_?!

"It's not a one-time thing, okay?" Santana said almost sharply. "Giving bits of yourself? It happens once, it's going to happen again. You can't help it. You know what's the worst case scenario with that? You're going to let someone else, _not _yourself, hold your cookie jar–_you_–and allow them to pick a cookie whenever they wanted to. Relentlessly."

"I never said it was a one-time thing," Brittany answers calmly as she was watching the other girl. "Like I said, you'll know when that someone is worthy of you. You speak of it as though you choose someone carelessly. It's like you talk about yourself being thrown at _anyone _who you know doesn't deserve you and you blame it on everybody else. It sounds to me as if you randomly picked a stranger, and now you're all against _feelings_. I don't understand."

"Yeah, you don't, because we're on opposite poles."

"Opposites attract," Brittany says. _Smooth._

Santana tries to ignore that. She almost did, but not quite. She felt that fluffy feeling spreading in her stomach. It doesn't stop her from ranting, though.

"You're trying to tell me that with feelings involved, it's better – when all my life, I sincerely devoted my belief otherwise to that. I'm sorry, Britt, if you don't understand, but that's how I roll. I just feel like you're _indoctrinating _me with _your _ideas about feelings, and I can't change the way I see things."

"Reform does not usually denote a bad thing," Brittany says, inching dangerously closer to Santana. Then, with a _really _soft and gentle voice, she asks her, "Are we arguing?"

It made Santana's hair at the back of her neck stand up. With their proximity right now, Brittany's nose already grazing her cheek, making the brunette feel every breath the blonde makes and takes against her skin – Santana wanted to say yes, they are arguing, but all she could do was to stay silent.

"San," Brittany still uses that godforbidden voice.

You can get the impression it's seductive or luring, but it's not. The voice is soft and gentle – sensitive. As if the person she's talking to would break any moment now.

Santana might.

Brittany kisses Santana's cheek ever so lightly. "Are we arguing?" she asks again.

Santana gulps but doesn't dare to look at the blues of the blonde. If she does, she's afraid of what else she could do after that cheek kiss. She remains wordless.

Brittany then kisses the side of Santana's head and still asks the same unanswered question. "Are we arguing?"

Santana is pretty sure her heart has already pumped blood good for a week with the rate it's going right now.

Still no answer.

Brittany proceeds to kiss Santana's nose. "Santana, are we arguing?"

While you think Santana is getting her advantages to this, which she totally is, she just can't actually form a coherent response to Brittany's question.

"I really, really want to kiss you," Brittany states the obvious. "Most especially when you were sincere with me, earlier. But not just that, there's a lot more reasons why. I just, I really, _really _want to kiss you."

Brittany's lips touched the corner of Santana's. Intimately close. She tries again, "Are we arguing?"

"We were," Santana finally gathers her shit. "Not anymore, though."

"And why is that?"

"Because you fucking kissed my face," Santana whisper-yells, still not looking.

"Didn't you like it?" Brittany sounds offended.

Santana swallows. Hard. "I did."

"Me too," Brittany tells her. "I think I know why you did like it."

"Why?"

"Because with each kiss that I left on your cheek, on the side of your head, on your nose, on the corner of your mouth, I made sure there were _feelings_ behind it."

This time, Santana _does _look at Brittany. She just stares. She was mindfucked. What kind of a being is this girl, really?

"I know this is supposed to be twenty questions, and I've probably used up all my turns, but I still got one more thing to ask."

Santana nods at once.

"Santana, will you…will you kiss _me_?"

She didn't need to be told twice.

Tentative. That was the perfect word to describe the first time Santana's lips made contact with Brittany's. The kiss was cautious, but it wasn't uncertain. Both girls seemed to realize that this is their first _real _kiss. They knew it was only due to happen. The kiss was timid, but not hesitant. After everything Santana told Brittany, and Brittany told Santana, it seems lip-locking is the only thing missing to officially seal the truce that they are connected in ways only they can know. A bond that is incomparable with any other. The kiss was unsteady, but not faltering. Being this close to each other is not a thing either girl would like to stop.

Santana thought about all the other kisses she had with all the other girls she had. It was hot, sure, but it doesn't compare to what she's having now. Those kisses were empty and lustful. They were hollow, like the eyes of a JSJ Maniac Faction soldier. Brittany's words were surely resonating in her head now. _Because with feelings, it's better. Like I said, you'll know when someone is worthy of you. Feelings. Better. Worthy. Feelings. Feelings. Feelings. Feelings._

She had to hold Brittany's neck to deepen the kiss, the same time as the blonde traced the contour of her lips with her tongue. They just needed to quiver in response. She goes on to suck the blonde's lower lip, and that's when realization dawned on her.

With feelings, it's better.

Passionate. The kiss was no longer tentative, it was passionate. Things can escalate quickly. The kiss was intense, yet it was placid. While Brittany's pale hands were unconsciously caressing Santana's thigh, as if to urge her closer, Santana's lips were already caged in between Brittany's teeth and all she could do was to let out a soft moan. It was like having a petal of rose lightly and peacefully damp her lips at the same time having a grassland set on wildfire. It was exquisitely beautiful and troubling at once.

Brittany is driving her crazy. This will be leading to other _stuff _if they don't stop. Now, Santana is never one for turning down _that _stuff, but she wants to do it right for Brittany. She wants to slow down, and she has to do it while she still can.

Santana pulls away, but rests their foreheads against each other. She was searching Brittany's eyes for _anything_. They were twinkling. She removed her clinging arms at Brittany's neck to cup her cheeks. She ran her thumb at it. She's so flushed it's adorable.

"I don't want that to end," the blonde says in _that_ voice again, now almost inaudible.

"Yeah? Why?" Santana asks just as softly. She's pretty sure she knows the answer by herself, too.

"Because when we kiss…you make me feel like I'm running so fast as if I'm chasing someone, only to find out I was chasing myself – both at once. Does that make sense?"

"Riot." Santana totally understands. It's a big chaos, and all you can really do is go with everything else that's happening.

Brittany leans into Santana's hands before pulling away and scooting at the opposite end of the couch. The space she left between them was more than generous.

Santana instantly felt cold now that Brittany's warmth is absent. Did she say something wrong? Brittany seems fazed. She slowly inches closer to her to regain the same close proximity.

"Britt," she says, "Are you okay?"

"I ruined everything. Oh my God."

"What?"

"I ruined everything. I made you kiss me. You're dating someone else. You're this pretty amazing person and now you're going to stop talking to me because _I made you kiss me_. Why am I so stupid?"

Brittany's words were so fast they seem to overlap each other, but Santana still caught on. She thinks Santana's amazing? Sweet Jesus.

In response, Santana captured Brittany's lips again and the other girl doesn't seem to know what's happening for two seconds, but eventually kisses back when she got a hold of herself.

"There," Santana says with a smile when they parted. "_I _kissed you. You didn't make me to. Nothing is ruined."

"But you're still dating Dani."

"I don't want her."

"She wants you."

"I want you."

If it's possible to have more red in Brittany's face than she does right now, then there it goes. All the blood rushes to her beautiful face upon hearing that.

"Santana."

"Fine," Santana pouts, "I get it." She gets up to leave. How come good things end so soon? Fucking stupid mouth. Why can't her brain and mouth coordinate at her most critical moments? Goddamn.

"Where are you going?"

"My apartment."

"Why?"

"Because I'm intruding and it's getting late and you have to sleep and work for tomorrow." That's a lie. Of course Santana doesn't want to face her rejection with the one who rejected her.

"Stay." It sounds both commanding and pleading at once.

Santana just looks at her.

"I want you, too, Santana," Brittany tells her earnestly, "Since day one. But I just think it's wrong to go kissing someone else when you know you still have someone that expects you not to."

"But I'm not committed to her like that."

"But she is, San. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's unfair – for all of the parties involved."

And now it makes sense. That talked sense to her shitty reasoning. It's true, it's going to be unfair. Santana is being unfair. What a shame. Her emotions are a fucking mess right now.

"I'm sorry," she tells Brittany solemnly. "And thanks for having me over and, you know, for trying to engage me with feelings and all that. Just when I thought I have enough reason to, I don't. I'm sleeping with more reasons not to deal with that kind of thing." She tries to give Brittany a smile, but she can't. "Okay, I'll leave you now. Um, thanks again."

"Santana."

"I'll just be upstairs if you need anything," she says both politely and sarcastically before turning the knob of Brittany's door.

She left feeling her insides disheveled more than ever.

Opening up is an omen.

She walked outside and looked up to the sky. There weren't so many stars out tonight, she notices. Is that how is it? When stars align incorrectly, they hide?

* * *

**a/n (I like leaving a/ns now): **HAVEN'T SEEN THE GLEE SEASON FINALE YET! BUT as always, THANK YOU ALL!


	10. Chapter 10

Santana didn't know what to feel after last night's events. It's a mesh of something awful, and supposedly something good. It's a heap of emotions, and Santana can only handle so little.

There was joy and satisfaction at firsthand because Santana has gotten so close to Brittany. Both literally and figuratively. Hell, they even kissed. And it was one of the best kiss she's ever had.

It made her think if setting foot on Brittany's apartment in the first place was a right decision. She's leaning to the side of it wasn't.

And then there are other things.

There was frustration, and maybe hurt as well. Frustration because just when Santana thought about trying, the reason vanished. Brittany called her out for being disloyal, which she has every right to, but Santana gets mad at the fact they had to stop before they even started. Hurt, because obviously, Santana isn't used to being rejected. She wasn't turned down completely, sure. She's even told Brittany wants her. But that's not how Santana felt. She admitted she wants Brittany, and in response, the Dani thing gets brought up immediately. She throws out herself in the open like that, disarmed and vulnerable, and all she gets is that?

It stung.

She can't blame anybody else. Not Dani, not Brittany. This is all of her doing. Santana brought this upon herself. If she wasn't so scared at the very first moment, maybe Brittany would have said something else. Maybe they could work out. Maybe.

She stared at the sky and its hidden stars until her nose felt cold. She never heard Brittany's door open. She didn't go after her. That's the proper decision for the blonde, Santana thinks. Brittany doesn't deserve a person who isn't emotionally stable. When things get overwhelming, Santana runs away.

While she looked up to the galaxy of unlikely, all that was running in her mind was if she did the right thing. I did, I did, I did, she kept telling herself.

Eventually, she went to her apartment, making sure she made no audible noise. She slept away everything that causes her stomach squirm, hoping it will all be gone by the time she wakes up.

It doesn't.

Santana woke up feeling instantly grumpy, and she woke up easily. It's as if what she had with Brittany last night is a ticking bomb and it's going to explode her into pieces any minute now.

It's a Saturday and Santana woke up past eleven. Waking up this late should feel normal and make her feel better. But it doesn't change anything. She still feels like a lame ad from Beth's - a mush of poop and beard.

When Quinn called to inform her that the meeting with Shelby will commence in about three hours, all Santana could respond was a quiet 'okay.' Santana didn't make lame jokes and half-hearted insults, because she doesn't trust herself to talk right now. She's concentrating on keeping herself together. It's for the sake of everybody.

She took her time getting ready to getting at Quinn's, not wanting to deal with people first thing in the morning. Her bath wasn't rushed, she let the cool feel of water beat against her own skin. She brushed her hair evenly, letting it dry naturally. She didn't take her unfortunate truck with her to buy more time. She walked to Quinn's condo.

Everything that could delay leaving her abode, Santana did.

When Santana walked through the door of Quinn's condo, the smell of coffee infiltrated her nose immediately. It smelled so good Santana can taste it in her tongue already. She's going to have that coffee, she decides.

She saw Blaine tinkering with cords and cables with a laptop and Quinn's flat TV. She noticed it was their agent-only laptops. Santana has one of that, but she rarely uses it because she's that kind of person. The guy with triangular brows is so engrossed with what he's doing he doesn't notice Santana come in.

Santana likes it like that and doesn't bother him as well.

Quinn and Rachel were seated at the couch, not really caring about Blaine's techy activity. They seem to have an entertaining chat, and Santana hated to announce her presence. She's not really up for talking.

She walks closer to the two girls and nods in acknowledgement.

"Santana," Rachel raises her cup of coffee at her. "How are you?"

Quinn didn't like pleasantries. She quickly jumps to reading Santana. "Something's completely off with you, S," she says. "You barely talked on the phone, and now you're not wearing your signature smirk or scowl."

"I'm fine," Santana tells them. "I need that coffee."

Quinn studies her, but does not insist. "Kitchen," she answers.

"I was the one who brewed it," Rachel adds because she thinks it's relevant.

Santana made a beeline to Quinn's kitchen and poured herself her own cup. She liked it black and hot.

Carefully taking a first sip, Santana felt good feeling the hot and bitter liquid drown onto her throat. For a moment, she forgot everything she's feeling right now. Just for a moment.

Santana didn't immediately rush back to the couch to join her friends. She's enjoying solitude right now. Instead, she inspects Quinn's fridge while grasping her cup of coffee. The suck-ass poem she made the last time she slept over here was still stuck on the center, but was now joined by a photo. Rachel must have put this up, she thinks, since it wasn't there days ago. It was a picture of them at Rachel's house and/or mansion. The four of them were standing by Berry's pool, all set to jump. The plan at that time was to first take a proper, all smiles picture, then jump. Being her natural self, Santana decided not to go with the plan and push Rachel, who was apparently linking hands with Quinn. What happened with the image was Rachel and Quinn was so surprised as if they were mugged, Santana laughing so hard with matching stomach-clutching and tears, and Blaine wearing an 'I am so done with all of you' expression. Good thing Artie captured this glorious moment.

The photo makes Santana want to smile. She almost does. Almost.

"It's one of my favorite photos of us four," Rachel says as she walks in, now her cup empty. "It encapsulates our entirety when we're together. I put it there since I felt this place was so bare."

Santana just nods.

"It's as if this place lacks something personal. With that photo up there, it now seems someone is actually living here."

Santana just nods again.

"I don't know what's up with you, but when you arrived, everything screams 'bad mood' from you. Is this because of the comment I made last night at BreadstiX? Am I not forgiven yet?"

"Not everything is about you," Santana hisses. "I said I'm fine."

"I always press the wrong buttons with you," Rachel tells her as she sets her cup down to the sink. "And I will never probably get the right ones, but whatever happened to you, please stay contained. Don't drag it out on us."

"I'm trying to keep my shit together, Berry," Santana glares at the shorter brunette. "And I would be glad if you stop meddling while I'm on the process of it."

"I'm not meddling, but I'd like you to know I'll be here whenever you want to let out whatever it is that's bothering you," Rachel tells her earnestly. "A little later, however, you will be talking to Shelby. You don't know how anxious Quinn is being. You need to be in the team, Santana. With you being so distant and oddly quiet, I don't think the magic of the three of you will pass through."

Rachel's right, Santana thinks. Her professional life and whatever aspect of Santana's life Brittany has invaded are two completely different dimensions. She must set the boundaries, and pick her wits about JSJ Maniac Faction. Right now, she is not mopping. Right now, she must be working and being a fully functional member of their team.

"Yeah, okay," Santana says.

* * *

Barriers. Santana managed to put them up in her dimensions. She is in work mode.

Santana maintained her cool all the while waiting for their meeting with Shelby. She gives off neutral answers when referred to, and she actually pays attention to whoever's speaking, who was mostly Rachel. She didn't snap at anybody, though she was still quieter than usual. Everyone else understood that something's up with her, and she was better off unbothered.

She was grateful they know her well enough.

All of them are huddled in front of the living room, residing at the couch. Actually, Rachel and Quinn are at the couch. Santana and Blaine are standing on each end. They both had their arms crossed.

Whatever Blaine was doing with his laptop, cords and the TV, he made it right.

There on the flatscreen projects Shelby Corcoran in her office at Beth's. The walls were made of glass, so her background was the overlook of the city. She had Artie and Kitty on each side of her, both of whom were waving happily at their own screens. Shelby, however, does not bear the same happiness. She does not look exactly pissed, but she does not seem pleased, either.

"Agents," Shelby says in the formal voice she always has.

The agents, including Rachel, mutter a chorus of 'hellos' and 'heys.'

"How's it going, you guys?" Artie asks in courtesy.

Quinn was the one to answer. "We're not bad," she tells them. "I know we mean business right now, so we appreciate you for asking."

"It's been tight around here," Kitty says.

Shelby gives Kitty a look. "So," she clasps her hands together, "Let's get down to it. We don't have all the time in the world."

Blaine was now the one to speak. "In our due of stay in this town, so far, I can say in behalf of my team that we're still far from hitting the target, but we are not blinded. Quinn saw how the transformation and the process happen. This may not be applicable to all, given she's only seen one case, but the suspects put the drug and the syringe in a black velvety book-like container. Furthermore, when suspects have gone through injecting themselves at the back of their elbow, something in their eyes changes and they appear to have extra strength."

"Is this claim supported by evidences?" Shelby asks.

"Yes, Ma'am," Quinn answers. "We went to a club were most of the seniors are, suspecting something was up. I saw the suspect unintentionally destroy a faucet just by gripping on it."

"I got close to the suspect," Santana supports in. "We danced and she was clinging to my waist unusually and forcefully a little too tight. And she even told me she did not expect the faucet to break."

Shelby squints her eyes, as if mulling over the new told information, and says, "Proceed."

"Santana was also the one who made contact with the drug-broker," Blaine gives her a glance. "Through a social media account, Facebook, she easily bargained a deal with the dealer, apparently going by the name Puck. The two of them are bound to meet, though at indefinite time. Puck called off the party Santana was supposed to be going to, saying his bosses are cooking something up. His words, not mine. Now, however, my team has formulated a plan that shall speedup the process of getting into him."

"How are you sure that this 'Puck' guy is a guy?" Artie inquires as he adjusts his glasses.

"I had an encounter at the library," Quinn explains. "A girl goes on to tell me about a Jake Puckerman, only to spill he had a brother named 'Puck.' He's known with that name."

"So you're capturing the drug-broker to get to Jessie St. James? Is that it?"

Santana didn't like the way Artie sounds, as if finding their plan ridiculous, and she's not sure if that's just in her head, but she didn't like it. She bit her tongue to refrain herself from saying something unprofessional.

"Basically, yes," Blaine admits.

"Ah, now," Artie says, as he turn to his own laptop on his lap. "I will introduce you to our enemies, so you know who we're actually dealing with."

"Enemies?" Santana was dumbfounded. "Plural?"

The TV screen turned blue for a split-second, then the logo of CSSA replaced it just as immediately, as if loading. The frame where Shelby, Kitty, and Artie are minimized to the side, right above the frame of the agents'.

"Yo," Artie says, seeing as his co-workers seemed to be baffled enough."You can't really think Jessie St. James can take over the world by himself, can you?"

"Yeah, no," Quinn mumbles dumbly.

"Well, he can't. Jessie St. James has his friends to help him. In what ways, we haven't exactly determined, but we have the idea."

Just then, the TV screen now flashes a picture of a guy with slightly curly hair and slightly devilish grin. It's as though his blue eyes were piercing through them.

With no question, this is Jessie St. James.

"You guys, I met this person once," Rachel spills.

"What?" Quinn whips her blonde hair towards the other girl. Santana and Blaine did the same gesture.

"I really did. I went to buy some organic eggs one time and that guy," Rachel points at the screen, "Bumped against me. He looked, but never said anything. I was just lucky the cracked eggs didn't beat up on my head or shirt. It fell on my side."

"This is Jessie St. James," Artie says. "Are you sure it was him? When was this encounter?"

"Approximately two months ago."

"This is getting really creepy," Santana says. She remembers how Rachel texted her at that time, asking her to accompany her. She turned down, saying she would prefer to sleep, or anything else, than spending time with the hobbit. If she had said yes, she would have met the maniac. It was horrifyingly odd.

"That does not concern the present matter," Shelby reprimands them annoyingly. "Carry on, Artie."

Artie Abrams is their to-go-to guy when it comes to research and confidential information. He has his expertise with computers and gadgets as well. He is dating Kitty Wilde, basically the secretary of Shelby, both in CSSA and Beth's.

He may belong in Santana's clique, but he is not in the inner circle. They get along just fine, though.

"A'ight," Artie nods at once. "I introduce you to Jessie St. James. When we heard he is taking over the world, we are supposed to believe him. But if we get at the right perspective, it would be obvious that the idea of that nears impossible. It would take a lot of time to get that over with, so I can say we can worry about the entire world some other time."

"Are you saying that he's a hoax?" Blaine's brows turned up.

"Definitely not. Jessie St. James is no joke. I'm just saying that you guys are given ample time before he really takes over. If we get everything together, that is." Artie then types in whatever from his laptop and two new faces joins JSJ in the screen.

The first one is a sharp-looking guy with blue eyes and fine brows. He was wearing a three-piece suit in the photo, and everything about him shouts 'upper-hand.' The other guy has brown hair and closely resembles a cartoon character. By his expression, he seems authorative.

"Since when is Homer the bad guy?" Santana mutters to herself while staring at the images.

"Too bad he's in this Maniac Faction," Quinn says as she was studying the other guy's picture.

"So the first one is Biff McIntosh," Artie tells them, enlarging the photo of the guy in the three-piece suit. "Not a lot is known about him, except he's funding the whole drug shenanigan. Do not let looks deceive you. He's helping Jessie, and whoever helps St. James is not our ally."

"Okay, got it," Quinn says. "Who's the other one?"

"That is Jean Baptiste. He supervises all the drug distribution, and administers other drug extension branches."

"Does this mean he's the main enemy? Is he the authority among them three?" Santana asks. She wanted to remove her leather jacket because of the sweat prickling on her neck. All this new information she's hearing is getting to her.

"We don't think so, no," Artie tells her. "Jessie St. James must have something against those two guys or whatever, but this is still his, and only his, doing. Biff McIntosh and Jean Baptiste might be, say, his left and right arm. Jessie's got the throne."

"Now that this has been told," Shelby gives them each a pointed look, "The three of you now recognizes that you are not only going against one guy. You are going against three and a whole army. Do you picture the entirety of this scenario? This is crucial and critical."

The three agents don't seem to be following.

"That is correct," Quinn tells her. "But I'm confident when I say Blaine, Santana and I have already known since the beginning that everything in our job is crucial and critical."

Kitty holds her hand high, motioning Blaine to shut his mouth so she could speak first.

"We know how credible, passionate, and responsible the three of you are in terms of serving your work - but what Shelby is trying to tell you here is that she is worried and you should all back out."

"What?!" The three agents said in unison.

Shelby sighs and glares at Kitty. "Why are you so pre-empting?"

"Shelby, I may be pissed at you for giving to me the stupid, unfortunate truck," Santana shakes her head, "But I never thought you would doubt us. Out of all the people, it is _you_ who doubts us. How sweet."

"Why do you want us to back out on this case?" Blaine asks fiercely.

Their team leader did not have the chance to express her gushed pride and hurt ego, seeing as she was already internally fuming. Good thing Rachel was there to soothe her back.

"I need you all to calm down," Shelby says with a softer expression. She looks at Artie for support, but he just shrugs uncomfortably. Kitty on her side just frowns. "I do not doubt you three," she tries.

The three agents mutters an 'oh please,' 'hell you don't,' and 'shut it, Shelby' at once.

Rachel gives her an apologetic smile.

"Talks have been ongoing, okay?" Shelby says as if defeated. "While you all are away, different secret agencies have been coordinating to go against Jessie St. James. What I can tell you is that he is a dangerous man, and not to be messed around."

"Do not shower your cowardice upon us," Quinn hisses.

Shelby goes on, totally ignoring Quinn's comment. "I stand by my claim that I do not doubt the three of you," she says certainly. "And I am not asking you to back out from the case. However, I need the three of you to lie-low this week - just this week. Yes, I am worried about your well-being engaging in this issue that involves drugs and mind control. But can you blame me if I don't want to risk my top best agents?"

The said top best agents were silent and giving looks to one another.

"The first time we encountered the JSJ issue, our plan was simple, wasn't it? Destroy the den, capture the den-runner and then take actions from there. It's systematic and easy. Free the young adults from the influence of drugs were our main goal."

Rachel nods for her friends. She is trusted this much.

"But that's not how it is anymore," Shelby says sternly, with matching pounding on her desk. "We now know there isn't just Jessie. There's a Biff and a Jean. And the drug. Who knows how many people Jessie St. James has manipulated to work for him? He may have an army of hundred, even thousands, all willing to serve him! What are the odds? I can't risk you three for that."

The agents must have calmed down, but remains quiet.

"This week, I will be meeting with Cassandra July and Carmen Tibideaux, other secret agency heads that could be trusted. We included Sue Sylvester and Will Schuester the last time, and it was chaos. They stand differently about this. But I, Miss July, and Miss Tibideaux have the same intention in mind. We may be teaming up with their teams, and I need you to lie-low for a week. Am I understood? We will devise a plan, and soon, tell you to take action."

Doing nothing related to their work means ruling out the true essence of their stay in this town. Santana doesn't like Shelby's command.

"You guys can come up here to also invest your input about the strategy," Kitty offers.

"Not everyone, though," Artie was quick to intercept. "One more thing Shelby forgot to mention is how Jessie St. James' main den lurks in that town. Someone must be there if something turns up."

"I'm asking them to lie-low, Artie," Shelby says while massaging her knuckles against her forehead. "As far as this meeting is being personal, you cannot deny that I am still your boss and you will do as I say. Don't do something shady for a week."

"We're staying," Quinn declares.

"I see," Shelby nods. "But in case someone among you disobeys me, expect to be sent home and pulled out from this case."

Santana wanted to roll her eyes. She doesn't.

"Am I understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the agents replied weakly.

"Good. That's all I have to say for now." Shelby turns to Artie and Kitty to inquire if they have anything more to add.

Artie does. "Blaine, I'm sending the complete background I found for our villains so you could all study them."

"Thanks," Blaine mutters.

"Well, then," Shelby stands up. "I'll talk to you three in a week."

Everybody just nods and the screen went to CSSA's logo again.

It's then that a mix of frustrated, dismayed, and dismantled tension took over above them. All, even Rachel, could feel it play in the air.

As if on cue, the three agents exhale a breath.

"I was not expecting it that bad," Quinn shakes her head.

"Not at all," Blaine has his palms at his eyes.

"Goddamn," Santana runs her hand through her hair.

"One week is a long time," the team leader says while standing up. "We need to talk about this. You two are really not considering to lie-low, are you? Because I'm not."

"No," Blaine replies.

"Can't we take a breather?" Santana sighs exasperatedly.

"Ain't nobody got time for that," Quinn tells her.

And Santana almost pounces on her. Almost.

"You guys are a little on edge," Rachel butts in calmly. "I understand things didn't go as you expected them to be, but you need to keep in mind that Shelby handed you orders. These orders cost you your dearly job if not effectuated properly. I suggest you all to hang back for a while to fully regain your calm."

Rachel is making so much sense for today it doesn't feel right for Santana.

"Listen to the hermit," she says.

Quinn's hazel green eyes were scanning those of Santana's and Blaine's.

"Okay," she finally concludes. "Go as you will, but please come back later."

"Sure, Q," Santana says, already out the door.

* * *

Now that Santana isn't in work dimension anymore, everything that encircles Brittany dimension comes crashing back at her.

While she was with Quinn, Blaine, Rachel, and everybody else, she felt as if she was drowning. But the kind of drowning that's still aware of the surroundings, the kind that voices are muffled. But now that she's alone and she has her thoughts to herself, now that she's crossed out her barriers, she's drowning further. This type of drowning has her suffocated and helpless.

She wants to stop thinking about Brittany, really, but she's drowned with thoughts of her like she's suffocated and helpless.

She's never felt this way before with any other girl, and that idea totally pisses her off.

Santana was walking, eyes downcast, watching her left foot and right foot compete against each another. She wanted to run, actually, but who goes for a run with a leather jacket and boots? Not her. Instead, she took pace and made wider strides.

She's going to stop by a place to grab something to eat, that's the plan, until somebody clashes against her.

Who walks without their eyes heeding them? Smartass Santana strikes one!

She doesn't say sorry, but waits how the somebody will react.

"Sorry," the somebody says. "Just, look where you're going next time."

Everything in Santana turned up. She knows that voice. She knows it extremely well by now.

"Brittany?"

And then their gazes locked. And then time stopped. And then everything and nothing became synonymous.

"Santana," the blonde breathes out, just as taken aback as the brunette.

"Yeah."

Then awkwardness hits them.

"Where are you headed?"

"I really don't know," Santana answers honestly. "You?"

"Same," Brittany smiles a little. "Can we walk to anywhere together?"

"You're not working?"

Brittany frowns, "No."

"To anywhere together," Santana shuffles to get beside Brittany.

The first moments, nobody said anything. Because after having over half of your day spent thinking about one same person, who is now next to you, what do you say? Add to that is last night's best-kiss-of-the-year and the unnecessary I-want-yous. Yup, it's totally fitting not to say anything for a while.

Santana's eyes were trained forward, though she's restraining them from glancing at Brittany. If she did glance at Brittany, she is just going to end up admiring the blonde and ultimately smiling to herself. She's going to be a complete idiot, and she doesn't need that at moments like these.

They walked in silence, until they saw the town's park, and wordlessly agree to go there.

"Where were you?" Brittany asks, as they set foot on the park's gravel pathway. "I stopped by at home, and your truck was there."

"Work," Santana answers vaguely. "I felt like walking today, and just prolonging the intrapersonal moment. It's both rejuvenating and masochistic, really."

"Bad day?"

Santana contemplates a bit. Was it a bad day? Does trying out feelings and getting called out for being unfair equals to a bad day? Does having your boss hand you orders which practically translates to doing nothing for a week equals to a bad day? Not exactly. But it isn't a good day, either, because Santana never wanted any of those.

"Yeah," she finally says, "You could say that."

"Me too," was Brittany's quiet reply.

Santana didn't say anything after that, because she thinks she has the idea why. They went on to their silent stroll at the park, watching different nonchalant scenarios such as a couple throwing out little pinches of bread to the ground for a flock of pigeons, a man walking his two dogs, a mother wiping away a smudge of ice cream at his son's face, and a lot of people passing by.

Santana recalls her first day of work in this town and how she carefully watched the people in this park from afar. That was the morning after she first met Brittany at the woods. It's amazing and bizarre how she was thinking of Brittany at that time, and how she still does right now, even when they're not apart anymore.

"You want to sit?" Brittany inquires when they passed a bench.

"Yeah," Santana said, sitting beside the blonde.

If you were to ask how awkward things are between the two girls, just think of this: the space between them could accommodate one more person to sit on the bench.

The sky was tinted orange and violet, and it was so pretty. Who needs the stars when you get these kinds of sky, Santana thought. Even if the silence is awkward, she's fine with it. She could handle all the awkwardness right now, but not how she embarrassed herself last night. Let the wind blow her hair without complaining, and Santana would still choose that rather than talking.

Instinctively, she turns her head to where Brittany is seated, and saw the blonde watching her.

For the first time today, Santana actually felt like smiling. She actually did. Seeing the sun kiss Brittany's face and strike her blue eyes is enough of a reason to do so. She's so beautiful, Santana thought to herself.

Everything she felt contradicts to how she acts.

"Hi," Brittany mouths.

"Hi," Santana mouths back.

It almost felt like they were their normal selves, and they could go on pretending nothing actually happened last night. Almost. You must be numb to not feel how each girl is being cautious with the other, and neither of them was. They're not numb to not feel. They are so reactive.

Does Brittany want to talk? Santana asks herself. They are looking at each other right now, and the blonde makes no attempt to ignite any conversation. She doesn't seem to have any plans on it, either. And that made Santana think again, as if she hasn't made that activity for too much already.

Santana looked away.

Weighing the odds last night, did Brittany lose anything at all?

It doesn't seem appear to be the case to Santana.

For her, she lost her well-maintained facade she always uses for everyone - the tough and heartless Santana. Brittany saw right through her exterior, and she knows how the brunette could be so vulnerable and small. She could even read her like she was an open book. Santana also lost her _numero uno_ principle of not being attached to anyone, and not being involved with feelings. She just did both with Brittany, and it's pretty obvious, even to herself.

Santana lost two of what she considers her most valued traits to one person, who, in return, does not lose anything. Brittany even gained something, Santana realizes, as she looks at every angle of their story. The blonde was given an opportunity to escape from the mess that is Santana. The mess isn't only her emotional well-being, but also the complications of her job.

Santana isn't a person to deny an opportunity like that to Brittany.

The dancer was right, then: It's truly unfair.

Santana can't help but to feel like it was her first time in this town again. She drove Brittany home at that time, and she remembered her features so well so she wouldn't forget. When Santana thought she'll never see Brittany again, all of her thoughts were full of at-leasts, what-ifs, and what-would-have-beens.

Right now, she's pretty much in the same position again. At least she got the time to get to know Brittany's sum and her parts. (Or some of it. There are still plenty that are yet to be discovered about Brittany's everything, Santana's sure.) What if Santana never got scared about being hurt? Everything must have been different. Had she known she was bound to meet someone as beautiful as Brittany, she would have conquered her fear of attachment a little sooner.

Santana has to give the opportunity to Brittany to escape her. She needs to let go.

Everything is dawning at Santana, and she is getting overwhelmed. In moments like these, she does the thing she knows she does well – running off.

Santana sighed resignedly, and gets up to leave.

"Fed up with sitting?" asks Brittany, who was quick to follow.

"No," Santana mutters while taking pace.

"Where are we going now?"

Santana abruptly stopped and whipped her head, turning to Brittany. The blonde's question felt like something else, and Santana can't help but to lace her tone with bitterness and sharpness when she speaks.

"_We_? You and I? Where are _we_ going?" She crosses her arms, "Oh, I don't know, Britt. I really don't know."

"Yeah," Brittany shrugs. "Maybe you would if you actually spoke your mind."

She's provoking me, Santana thought. She wants me to be the one who opens up the thing last night. This isn't a conversation about a location anymore, Santana makes up her wits. This is actually something else between them.

"Well, I don't," Santana says, not biting the bait. "What about you? Do you know where you and I are going?"

"I do," Brittany nods. "But my opinion is of little value compared to yours, because it is on _you_ where to lead the both of us."

Yet again, Santana was astounded by Brittany's cleverness. And her patience, and her gentleness, and her everything.

If Santana were to read between the lines of Brittany's statement, she thinks the other girl basically says that her decision between them is what actually matters. Which is most likely true, because if you think about it - Santana is the one who's fragile. She is the one who's dating somebody else. She's the one complicating things.

And then there's Brittany, who is always calm and always mindful of the right words at the right time. Brittany, who is luckily single and oddly likes Santana back...and is just waiting for her to decide.

Completely, it's Santana's duty to declare points between them.

How often do you meet someone as amazing as Brittany Pierce?

Not often. And it sucks a lot for Santana to let the lucky chance slip and not to expound the opportunity because she has to let go.

Real, _real_ sucker.

"If that's the case," she starts off shakily. "I think we are leading to nowhere, and you and I should separate ways."

Brittany's jaw clenched, "You speak what you think, but never what you feel."

I did, Santana wanted to say, I told you I want you last night and Dani gets brought up immediately. She also wanted to say that Brittany used the word 'mind' earlier, but Santana never mentioned it because it was totally irrelevant.

She stayed quiet instead.

"Is that what you really want?" Brittany's voice was shaky.

Santana didn't dare to look at her. She focused on convincing herself it's the right decision and willed herself to nod.

"Yes." She adds, rather inaudibly, "For you."

There was a heavy silence for a minute, and no second felt easy. Neither the beauty of the park's scenery nor the mere beauty of Brittany helped. When Santana glanced at her, she looked like she was in pain.

You are going to be okay, Britt. You don't need me there in your life. This is the right choice, Santana cheers on internally.

"Okay," Brittany finally says, "Separate ways."

And just like that, the first person Santana admitted to have feelings for, walked away towards the opposite direction.

She was left alone.

For the rest of Santana's life, she would be filled with questions of at-leasts, what-ifs and what-would-have-beens – all about one very beautiful blonde.

* * *

"Seriously, S," Quinn eyes her once Santana was standing at the kitchen's entryway. "You said you'd go out for a breather, but now you look even worse. Lifeless as a rock, you are."

"Heart as hard as a stone," Blaine supplies in.

"I appreciate the thoughtful greetings, morons," Santana tells them coldly, as she walks to join her friends.

After the brunette's encounter with Brittany, all the liveliness remaining in her was taken away. Even her appetite was gone. She rounded the park with a blank mind, and finally decided to drag herself back to Quinn's when it became dark.

She put up her barriers and shifted to work mode again. She would deal with her own emotions after all this work shit is concluded.

"You don't sound like you're going to snap any moment now, unlike earlier," Rachel observes. "You just sound tired _and _lonely."

Santana blatantly ignores her and takes the stool beside Quinn.

"Are you okay? I get it you change moods as quickly as a bullet train, but I just know this is different." Her blonde friend asks worriedly, huge concern etched on her face. "Please don't lie, Santana."

"I'm fine, Q," Santana answers dismissively. "Stop with the puppy eyes and whisper voice. It's disgusting. I'm okay. I can function well enough, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm worried about you," Quinn sighs.

Santana somehow felt a little heaviness lift from her shoulders upon hearing that. "Gross, but thank you," she says in meekness. "I'm okay, and we can carry on with whatever we're supposed to do."

Rachel swipes in a plate of pasta between them, and pats Santana's shoulder. "Have you even eaten yet?"

"Certainly not, but what the hell is _this_?" Santana grimaces as she eyes the plate of pasta with little green leaves and orange lumps.

"It's whole-wheat fettuccine with roasted tomatoes. There's vegan parmesan there, so all goes well."

Quinn chuckles, "It's actually good, S. Just try it out, and maybe it'll actually make you feel better."

"I highly doubt it," Santana says, but doesn't push away the plate.

"Ladies," Blaine gathers their attention, "Now that we are complete, I now have to ask – where do you stand on Shelby's orders? Do we disregard them or do we abide?"

"Totally disregard," Quinn answers quickly. "She doubts us and we have to prove her wrong."

"She stated she was only looking out for us," Blaine says, "Which is very much appreciated, though we haven't expressed our gratitude to her for that."

"I know we're somehow attached to Shelby to a personal extent, and she to us," Quinn reasons. "I mean, two years being in this field of career and CSSA has got to count for something, right? Add to that is mine and Santana's history with her. But that is not the point, you guys. She doesn't fully trust our capabilities and that's degrading, coming from her."

"Shelby never really asked us to _completely _withdraw from the case, Quinn," the only guy in the room mutters, decided to show his point. "And she also reiterated a couple of times that she does not doubt any of us. I studied the files Artie sent me, and I think Shelby is in the right to ask us to lie-low."

Santana, alongside the shorter brunette next to her, was intently listening as she was munching on the pasta the girl offered her. The dish was actually good, as Quinn told her, but Santana never expressed it verbally.

She stayed quiet most of the time. Clearly, Quinn and Blaine are on different sides right now. If Santana could read minds, Quinn's brain was raking of a polite comeback that equals to 'Yeah, 'cause you a suck up, Tightypants.'

Santana can't blame her. It sucks to be told otherwise. She should know.

It is given, however, that both of them had points to prove.

"So what, we just sit with our asses off and let JSJ and his friends to sell out drugs to young people and takeover? One week is a significant amount of time."

"No, I know. I didn't mean that," Blaine shakes his head. "You said so yourself, we have to be careful and strategic. And if waiting for the devised plan of our heads is what needed to be done, then so be it."

Quinn looks intensely at Blaine, who does the same, as their discussion turns heated.

"What are your thoughts with this, Santana?" Their team leader asks with a glance.

"I think that if I don't speak up now, both of you are going to claw out each other's eyes any second now," Santana jokes, despite her mood. Her two friends do not crack a grin, so she goes on. "I see that you have your points, Blaine and Quinn, but we're a team, and we have to have a unified stand on this. We need to set aside our troubled feelings, wounded ego, and our personal objectives. In case you haven't realized this, we're supposed to be the for-the-greater-good people."

Rachel has her face stretched to a wide smile like she wanted to applaud Santana.

"What I'm thinking is," Santana ignores the emanating giddiness from the hobbit, "we should all meet halfway. We should settle for a safe choice, and we cannot rule out the ultimatum Shelby gave us. This case is too important for us not to participate in. It sounds silly that I'm the one who's going to say this, given I resented the idea so much, and I still do – but I think we should push along with the plan of befriending Jake Puckerman, and later his brother. We never mentioned our plan of getting close to the Puckermans, if I remember correctly."

"And how is that safe?" Blaine challenges.

"Because," Santana starts with an eye-roll. "We'll be in the middle of everything. I know Shelby is not _dim-witted _to not check on us every now and then. Hell, she may even send someone to see if we're really doing anything that opposes her orders. But if we do enroll in that dance studio, it is an innocent move. Or at least from the outside. We're making progress, as in we're possibly communicating with the drug-broker. However, we're also not making progress, because all we're going to do is talk to one Jake Puckerman. Do you see where I'm getting at?"

"I do," Quinn seems to consider the idea.

"That's still going behind Shelby's back," Blaine insists.

"Remember she also kept us in dark," Santana says with certainty. "If not for Artie, we could never confirm Jessie St. James lurks here. If not for Kitty, we wouldn't have known the current state of CSSA."

The other two agents were chewing over the brunette's idea.

Rachel couldn't contain her gaiety as to how Santana is handling the situation. "This is going to sound obnoxious, but I like the way you reason when you're in a foul disposition."

"Nobody asked you, Berry," Santana shuts her up immediately, though she understood that was supposedly a compliment. Then she goes back to Blaine and Quinn, "You asked for my thoughts, and that's what I have. Both of you wins – we're doing what's supposed to be done. Make something out of a week, and obey Shelby's _sanctified _orders."

She pushed off her now emptied plate and stood up to get a glass of water from the fridge. I've done my part, Santana thinks. It's all up to them now.

"I'm glad you liked the food I made," Rachel calls out after her.

"I was just desperately hungry," Santana denies it and drowns the water.

Rachel smiles at her attempt to hide the truth, which mainly gets Santana annoyed.

"See," the Jewish girl says, "Having your stomach contented also makes you contented. Now you speak more, and you're actually being levelheaded. During arguments, you usually egg on somebody but now you didn't. That's why I was so glad."

"Stop scrutinizing me, Hobbit," Santana says biting on a Twix bar. "If you don't stop, I'll fucking throw my razorblades at you. You know they're just always hidden in my hair."

Rachel snorts, "As you please."

"So, Barbie and Gay Ken," Santana turns to Quinn and Blaine. "Have you made up your mind yet?"

"Let's do it," the two agents say in unison.

Santana actually let herself smile for the second time today. She liked her job. She liked her friends. If the stars won't allow her and the person she likes to happen at present, at least she got somewhere else to devote herself.

Primarily, the agents, including Rachel, are enrolling in Pierce's Dance Studio by pairs. During MWF, it was the tandem of Quinn and Blaine. While during TTH, it was the two brunettes. That was the gist of the plan.

Santana insisted she should go with Berry, even though that would be torture for her. She says Jake would feel more at ease with two known faces from school, namely Lucy Hastings and Devon Anderson. (In all truth, it was just Santana's cover-up to hide the fact from her agent friends that Brittany knows her as Santana Lopez and not Jennifer Low. At least Rachel could be exposed to such mess, given she's a friend, but not a co-agent.) At first, Blaine didn't find Santana's strategy to be compelling, given that he and Jake are students while Lucy is supposedly someone older. He thought it would make the other guy feel uncomfortable. Quinn frowned angrily at him, and that was the end of his vindication.

Santana has her fingers crossed everything would work out in the end.

The rest of the night was spent at Quinn's with the blonde boggling Santana on what's really up with her. The brunette didn't budge, and was decided to keep all of her conflicts to herself. Instead, she just sang along with Blaine and Berry making melodies, which ultimately annoys Quinn to the bones. Easy.

* * *

When it was time to come home, Santana felt uneasy. Work is over and her barriers would have to be set down. She would be left alone with her thoughts and there is the reminder that she practically asked Brittany to leave her off. Separate ways, they said. Didn't they remember the proximity of their apartments is very minimal?

This is a perfect example of those easier-said-than-done scenarios, Santana thinks.

She had her eyes downcast again, always a fan of the competition between her left and right foot. She was getting closer to her own place and she doesn't know what to expect. She had to run her hand through her hair to calm her nerves.

Why is she even feeling anxious?

She's not _everything _to Brittany. She doesn't hold her by the collar. If she asks her to go, she will. She can't ask her to wait for Santana until she sorts her shit out with Dani. They met not so long ago, and she's not _that_ to Brittany.

Even if Santana feels the exact opposite. That does not matter.

Santana went past Brittany's door, and she doesn't hear any signs of life. She tries not to read so much into that, and proceeded right away to climb the stairs.

Three steps away to her own door, Santana saw another foot that doesn't belong to her. She brought her gaze up and saw Brittany sitting on the second to the top step.

The blue-eyed blonde had her fingers wrung and pressed to the space between her nose and upper lip. She looks…tired.

Their eyes met and they basked into a lumbering silence. _So much for separate ways._

Santana sat next to Brittany and fixed her vision forward. From their last encounter, there were so many things unsaid, so many questions unanswered, and everything was left unkempt. What happened earlier was too vague, and Santana's decision was to untangle both of them from the forestalling deep attachment they were building.

If Brittany wanted to talk feelings now, Santana is ready.

"I was waiting for you," Brittany finally speaks.

"You were," Santana says, though does not shift her stare. "Why?"

Brittany didn't answer. She had her hands placed on top of her thighs, rubbing the denim fabric.

"How long have you been here?" asks Santana.

"I don't know, an hour? I wasn't watching the time."

"Okay," was all Santana could reply.

When Brittany sighed, Santana knew she had to look at her. (Looking at someone shouldn't hurt, right? It kinda does for Santana.)

"I know you're not expecting me here," Brittany says while looking intensely at her. "And I don't expect myself to be here, either. But I have to be, Santana. I have to see you. All day, ever since I met you, you're all that's there in my head. I already told you that, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Santana smiles weakly. "It's okay."

"It's okay when you're just my thoughts. It becomes _not_ okay when I want you to be my reality."

"Dani," Santana nods at once in understanding. Her expression hardened without awareness.

"And I do," Brittany declares, "I want you to be my reality."

And there it goes. The riot Brittany starts within Santana is on. Everything in her system is in chaos. Her skin feels hot, her heart beats faster, her mind is on standby mode, her pupils dilate, and she cannot will herself to form a statement that would sum up the entirety of what she's feeling right now.

She's not supposed to want Brittany. She's a mess and the other girl deserves someone else that is so much better than her. But Santana does want Brittany. And everything she tells her mind, her feelings contradict.

Fucking feelings.

"I kept replaying over and over again what happened last night," Brittany goes on to talk. "I panicked, that's given. But I kept asking myself, 'was it right to bring up Dani?' _That _was our moment, I know. Then I thought, yes, it was right. I wouldn't have changed anything from that time if I could."

"Honestly, I didn't like it when you had to interrupt _our_ moment. But I guess you have every right to do so, yeah. You always know the right things about everything."

"I really don't," Brittany shrugs. "I don't know what it's like to be cheated on, but I know what it's like to be sad. And Dani's going to be super sad if she knew you were kissing someone else."

Santana sighs resignedly, "You're too good for me. And I'm saying this even if you just called me a cheater."

Brittany's lips twitched up in response.

"Is that why you're here?" Santana asks half-heartedly. "To tell me it was fun while it lasted? That's already pretty obvious, Britt."

"No, not exactly," the blonde shakes her head timidly. "I was waiting for you because…I wanted to tell you…that I am waiting."

Santana wets her lips because she was not following.

"I want you to be my reality. I want the part of you that you refuse to give to anybody else. I want you, Santana. I know it seems too early to make such declarations, but whatever you do that I see – it takes me closer and closer to you. Like, right now, you're always in my mind, right? But somehow, for some odd, wicked reasons, I felt like you were always there. It was until you showed up that the thought of you awakened." Brittany takes a breath then lets it out. "I think what I'm really saying is…I'm waiting until you and I could finally happen. Maybe it's not now, but I _know_ we're going to happen."

And just like a dork, Santana broke into a very bright grin and can't bring herself to say _anything_. She was still astounded.

"It's okay to not say anything, though it would be great if you do," Brittany mumbles quietly. "It's okay, Pierce. You did it. It's okay…"

Santana noticed Brittany was having a private speech session to herself, which she deems adorable. The blonde was flustered all over – her cheeks are red, her ears are red, and even her neck is red. If Santana declared her feelings like that, she would have the same bodily reaction – even if she's tan. What Brittany did, putting herself out in the open, is _not _easy.

"I'm going to fix everything," Santana says determinedly, not sure if she's convincing herself or Brittany. (Perhaps both.) "I'm going to make myself worthy of someone as good as you. I'm going to make everything fit. We're going to happen. I know it, too."

It was Brittany's turn to smile, and Santana's heart aches because of the blonde's beauty.

"You'll probably get mad with what I'm going to do next, I'll deal with that later, but I just have to do this."

Brittany frowns.

And then Santana kisses her.

* * *

**a/n: **HI AND THANK YOU WOOOOO! I APPRECIATE ALL THE REVIEWS AND ALL THE ALERTS THANK YOU GUYS x100! ok bye 4 now!


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